the hard peril and pain--
To-morrow the stone shall be rolled away,
For the sunshine shall follow the rain.
Merciful Father, I will not complain,
I know that the sunshine shall follow the rain.
371
JOAQUIN MILLER: _For Princess Maud._

=Complexion.=

Mislike me not for my complexion,
The shadow'd livery of the burnish'd sun.
372
SHAKS.: _M. of Venice,_ Act ii., Sc. 1.

=Compulsion.=

Such sweet compulsion doth in music lie.
373
MILTON: _Arcades,_ Line 68.

=Concealment.=

She never told her love,
But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud,
Feed on her damask cheek.
374
SHAKS.: _Tw. Night,_ Act ii., Sc. 3.

=Conceit.=

Conceit in weakest bodies strongest works.
375
SHAKS.: _Hamlet,_ Act iii., Sc. 4.

=Conclusion.=

But this denoted a foregone conclusion.
376
SHAKS.: _Othello,_ Act iii., Sc. 3.

=Concord.=

Pour the sweet milk of concord into hell,
Uproar the universal peace, confound
All unity on earth.
377
SHAKS.: _Macbeth,_ Act iv., Sc. 3.

=Condemnation.=

To each his suff'rings; all are men,
Condemn'd alike to groan,--
The tender for another's pain,
Th' unfeeling for his own.
378
GRAY: _On a Distant Prospect of Eton College._

=Confession.=

Come, now again thy woes impart,
Tell all thy sorrows, all thy sin;
We cannot heal the throbbing heart,
Till we discern the wounds within.
379
CRABBE: _Hall of Justice,_ Pt. ii.

=Confidence.=

I will believe
Thou wilt not utter what thou dost not know;
And so far will I trust thee.
380
SHAKS.: _1 Henry IV.,_ Act ii., Sc. 3.

=Conflict.=

Arms on armor clashing bray'd
Horrible discord, and the madding wheels
Of brazen chariots rag'd; dire was the noise
Of conflict.
381
MILTON: _Par. Lost,_ Bk. vi., Line 209.

=Confusion.=

Ruin seize thee, ruthless king!
Confusion on thy banners wait!
382
GRAY: _The Bard,_ Pt. i., St. 1.

With ruin upon ruin, rout on rout,
Confusion worse confounded.
383
MILTON: _Par. Lost,_ Bk. ii., Line 995.

=Congregation.=

Wherever God erects a house of prayer,
The Devil always builds a chapel there;
And 't will be found, upon examination,
The latter has the largest congregation.
384
DEFOE: _True-Born Englishman,_ Pt. i., Line 1.

=Conquest.=

Though fann'd by Conquest's crimson wing,
They mock the air with idle slate.
385
GRAY: _The Bard,_ Pt. i., St. 1.

=Conscience.=

Thus conscience does make cowards of us all;
An