the grave.

IX.

And thou, my song, sad child of my despair,
Complain no more; but since thy wretched fate
Improves her happier lot who gave thee birth,
Be all thy sorrows buried in my tomb.

None of the shepherds departed until, the grave being made and the
papers burnt, the body of Chrysostom was interred, not without many
tears from the spectators. They closed the sepulchre with a large
fragment of a rock until a tombstone was finished, which Ambrosio said
it was his intention to provide, and to inscribe upon it the following
epitaph:--

CHRYSOSTOM'S EPITAPH.

The body of a wretched swain,
Killed by a cruel maid's disdain,
In this cold bed neglected lies.

He lived, fond, hapless youth! to prove
Th' inhuman tyranny of love,
Exerted in Marcela's eyes.

Then they strewed abundance of flowers and boughs
on the grave, and after expressions of condolence to his
friend Ambrosio, they took their leave of him.

All beauty does not inspire love; some please the sight
without captivating the affections. If all beauties were to
enamour and captivate, the hearts of mankind would be in a
continual state of perplexity and confusion--for beautiful
objects being infinite, the sentiments they inspire should
also be infinite.

True love cannot be divided, and must be voluntary and
unconstrained.

The viper deserves no blame for its sting, although it be
mortal--because it is the gift of Nature.

Beauty in a modest woman is like fire or a sharp sword at a
distance; neither doth the one burn nor the other wound
those that come not too near them.

Honor and virtue are ornaments of the soul, without which
the body, though it be really beautiful, ought not to be
thought so.

Let him who is deceived complain.

Let him to whom faith is broken despair.

She who loves none can make none jealous, and sincerity
ought not to pass for disdain.

Much time is necessary to know people thoroughly.

We are sure of nothing in this life.

There is no remembrance which time does not obliterate, nor
pain which death does not terminate.

Fortune always leaves some door open in misfortune.

Sometimes we look for one thing and find another.

Self-praise depreciates.

The cat to the rat--the rat to the rope--the rope to the
gallows.

Out of the frying-pan into the fire.

One man is no more than another, only inasmuch as he does
mor