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They separated at an early hour;

That is, ere midnight—which is London's noon: But in the country ladies seek their bower

A little earlier than the waning moon. Peace to the slumbers of each folded flower

May the rose call back its true colours soon! Good hours of fair cheeks are the fairest tinters, And lower the price of rouge—at least some winters.



Note 1, page 135, stanza vii.

Right honestly « he liked an honest hater!» etc. «Sir, I like a good hater.»-See the Life of Dr Johnson, etc.

Note 2, page 141, stanza xxvi.
Also there bin another pious reason etc.
With every thing that pretty bin,
My lady sweet arise.-SHAKSPEARE.

Note 3, page 148, stanza xlv.
They and their bills, « Arcadians both, etc.

* Arcades ambo.»

Note 4, page 156, stanza LXXI.
Or wilder group of savage Salvatore's: etc.

Salvator Rosa.

Note 5, page 157, stanza LxxII. His bell-mouthed goblet makes me feel quite Danish etc. If I err not, « Your Danen is one of lago's Catalogue of Nations • exquisite in their drinking.»

Note 5,* page 159, stanza LxxvIII.
Even Nimrod's self might leave the plains of Dura, etc.

In Assyria.

Note 6, page 165, stanza xcvi.

« That scriptures out of church are blasphemies. » a Mrs Adams answered Mr Adams, that it was blasphemous to talk of scripture out of church. This dogma was broached to her husband—the best christian in any book. See Joseph Andrews, in the latter chapters.

Note 7, page 168, stanza cvi.

Should have a hook, and a small trout to pull it. It would have taught him humanity at least. This sentimental savage, whom it is a mode to quote, amongst the novelists, to show their sympathy for innocent sports and old songs, teaches how to sew up frogs, and break their legs by way of experiment, in addition to the art of angling, the cruellest, the coldest, and the stupidest of pretended sports. They may talk about the beauties of nature, but the angler merely thinks of his dish of fish; he has no leisure to take his eyes from off the streams, and a single bite is worth to him more than all the scenery around. Besides, some fish bite best on a rainy day. The whale, the shark, and the tunny fishery have somewhat of noble and perilous in them; even net-fishing, trawling, etc. are more humane and useful—but angling! No angler can be a good man.

a One of the best men I ever knew; ;-as humane, delicate-minded, generous, and excellent a creature as any in the world, was an angler : true, he angled with painted flies, and would have been incapable of the extravagances of I. Walton.»

The above addition was made by a friend in reading over the MS.u Audi alteram partem»—I leave it to counterbalance iny own observation.




If from great nature's or our own abyss

Of thought, we could but snatch a certainty, Perhaps mankind might find the path they miss

But then 't would spoil much good philosophy. One system eats another up, and this

Much as old Saturn ate his progeny; For when his pious consort gave

him stones In lieu of sons, of these he made no bones.


But system doth reverse the Titan's breakfast,

And eats her parents, albeit the digestion
Is difficult. Pray tell me, can you make fast,

After due search, your faith to any question?
Look back o'er ages, ere unto the stake fast

You bind yourself, and call some mode the best one. Nothing more true than not to trust your senses; And yet what are your other evidences?


For me, I know nought; nothing I deny,

Admit, reject, contemn; and what know you, Except perhaps that you were born to die?

And both may after all turn out untrue. An age may come, font of eternity,

When nothing shall be either old or new. Death, so call’d, is a thing which makes men weep, And yet a third of life is pass'd in sleep.


A sleep without dreams, after a rough day

Of toil, is what we covet most; and yet
How clay shrinks back from more quiescent clay!

The very suicide that pays his debt
At once without instalments (an old way

Of paying debts, which creditors regret),
Lets out impatiently his rushing breath,
Less from disgust of life than dread of death.


'T is round him, near him, here, there, every where;

And there's a courage which grows out of fear, Perhaps of all most desperate, which will dare

The worst to know it:—when the mountains rear Their peaks beneath your human foot, and there

You look down o'er the precipice, and drear The gulf of rock yawns, you can't gaze a minute Without an awful wish to plunge within it.

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