The rabble all alive,
From tippling benches, cellars, stalls, and sties,
Swarm in the streets.
1201
COWPER: _Task,_ Bk. vi., Line 704.

=Mockery.=

Hence, horrible shadow!
Unreal mockery, hence!
1202
SHAKS.: _Macbeth,_ Act iii., Sc. 4.

=Modesty.=

Her looks do argue her replete with modesty.
1203
SHAKS.: _3 Henry VI.,_ Act iii., Sc. 2.

Such an act
That blurs the grace and blush of modesty.
1204
SHAKS.: _Hamlet,_ Act iii., Sc. 4.

=Monarchs.=

A morsel for a monarch.
1205
SHAKS.: _Ant. and Cleo.,_ Act i., Sc. 5.

A lucky chance, that oft decides the fate
Of mighty monarchs.
1206
THOMSON: _Seasons, Summer,_ Line 1285.

=Money.=

This yellow slave
Will knit and break religions; bless the accurs'd;
Make the hoar leprosy ador'd; place thieves,
And give them title, knee, and approbation,
With senators on the bench.
1207
SHAKS.: _Timon of A.,_ Act iv., Sc. 3.

He had rolled in money like pigs in mud.
1208
Hood: _Miss Kilmansegg._

'T is true we've money, th' only power
That all mankind falls down before.
1209
BUTLER: _Hudibras,_ Pt. iii., Canto ii., Line 1327.

Get money; still get money, boy,
No matter by what means.
1210
BEN JONSON: _Every Man in His Humour,_ Act ii., Sc. 3.

=Months.=

Thirty days hath September,
April, June, and November,
All the rest have thirty-one,
Excepting February alone:
Which hath but twenty-eight, in fine,
Till leap year gives it twenty-nine.
1211
_Common in the New England States._

=Monuments.=

Not marble, nor the gilded monuments
Of princes, shall outlive this powerful rhyme.
1212
SHAKS.: _Sonnet 55._

=Mood.=

Anon they move
In perfect phalanx, to the Dorian mood
Of flutes and soft recorders.
1213
MILTON: _Par. Lost,_ Bk. i. Line 549.

Fantastic as a woman's mood,
And fierce as Frenzy's fever'd blood.
1214
SCOTT: _Lady of the Lake,_ Canto v., St. 30.

=Moon.=

Now glow'd the firmament
With living sapphires; Hesperus, that led
The starry host, rode brightest, till the Moon,
Rising in clouded majesty, at length,
Apparent queen, unveil'd her peerless light,
And o'er the dark her silver mantle threw.
1215
MILTON: _Par. Lost,_ Bk. iv., Line 604.

How like a queen comes forth the lonely Moon
From the slow opening curtains of the clouds;
Walking in beauty to her midnight throne!
1216
GEORGE CROLY: _Diana._

The moon had climb'd t