T is just like a summer bird-cage in a garden,the birds that are without despair to get in, and the birds that are within despair and are in a consumption for fear they shall never get out.4
Condemn you me for that the duke did love me? So may you blame some fair and crystal river For that some melancholic, distracted man Hath drownd himself in t.
The White Devil. Act iii. Sc. 2.
Note 1. They never taste who always drink; They always talk who never think. Matthew Prior: Upon a passage in the Scaligerana. [back]
Note 2. What beckoning ghost along the moonlight shade Invites my steps, and points to yonder glade? Alexander Pope: To the Memory of an Unfortunate Lady. [back]