knavish lad,
Thus to make poor females mad.
_Midsummer Night's Dream, Act iii. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

This senior-junior, giant-dwarf, Dan Cupid:
Regent of love-rhymes, lord of folded arms,
The anointed sovereign of sighs and groans.
_Love's Labor's Lost, Act iii. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

No wonder Cupid is a murderous boy:
A fiery archer making pain his joy.
His dam, while fond of Mars, is Vulcan's wife,
And thus 'twixt fire and sword divides her life.
_Greek Anthology_. MELEAGER.

The gods are just, and of our pleasant vices
Make instruments to plague us.
_King Lear, Act v. Sc. 3_. SHAKESPEARE.

Wilt thou draw near the nature of the gods?
Draw near them then in being merciful;
Sweet mercy is nobility's true badge.
_Titus Andronicus, Act i. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

GOOD.

What good I see humbly I seek to do,
And live obedient to the law, in trust
That what will come, and must come, shall come well.
_The Light of Asia_. SIR E. ARNOLD.

There shall never be one lost good! What was shall live as before;
The evil is null, is nought, is silence implying sound.
_Abt Vogler, IX_. R. BROWNING.

Now, at a certain time, in pleasant mood,
He tried the luxury of doing good.
_Tales of the Hall, Bk. III_. G. CRABBE.

'T is well said again;
And 't is a kind of good deed to say well:
And yet words are no deeds.
_King Henry VIII., Act iii. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

Look round the habitable world, how few
Know their own good, or, knowing it, pursue!
_Juvenal, Satire X_. J. DRYDEN.

These are thy glorious works, Parent of good!
_Paradise Lost, Bk. V_. MILTON.

GRATITUDE.

The still small voice of gratitude.
_For Music_. T. GRAY.

A grateful mind
By owing owes not, but still pays, at once
Indebted and discharged.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. IV_. MILTON.

I've heard of hearts unkind, kind deeds
With coldness still returning;
Alas! the gratitude of men
Hath oftener left me mourning.
_Simon Lee_. W. WORDSWORTH.

Beggar that I am, I am even poor in thanks.
_Hamlet, Act ii. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

GRAVE, THE.

There is a calm for those who weep,
A rest for weary pilgrims found,
They softly lie and sweetly sleep
Low in the ground.
_The Grave_. J. MONTGOMERY.

Ah, the grave's a quiet bed:
She shall sleep a pleasant sleep,
And the tears that you may shed
Will not wak