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But I think it's important that things endure.

quote by Robin Day
Added by Lucian Velea
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If It's Love!

It's important that unshown love,
Comes directly shown from you.
To say it...
Doesn't make,
That-love-be-true!

It's important that unshown love,
Is a thing one wants to do...
Just to prove what is said,
Is absolutely true.

A hug,
And maybe a kiss.
A touch,
That has been missed.
A show of thoughtfulness...
Can go a very long distance.

A call,
Every once in a while...
Will go further than a mile.
If love is there to be shared...
Show someone they are cared for!
And doubts will come no more.

It's important that unshown love,
Comes directly shown from you.
To say it...
Doesn't make,
That-love-be-true!

It's important it's directly shown,
If it's love.
Yes!

It's important it's directly shown,
If it's love.
Yes!

It's important it's directly shown.
It's important it's directly shown.
It's important it's directly shown,
If it's love!

It shoos a boo-hooin'...
Known.

It's important it's directly shown.
It's important it's directly shown.
It's important it's directly shown,

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Loneliness

There're many things in life i can endure,
One such thing is poverty.
But loneliness, loneliness,
Is one thing i can't endure.
There're many things in the world i can endure,
One such thing is humility.
But loneliness, (loneliness) loneliness, (loneliness)
Is something i can't endure.
How could i stand loneliness, loneliness?
How are you suppose to cope with loneliness, loneliness?
How would one live with loneliness, loneliness, lo-oh-loneliness?
(oh, loneliness)
There are many things in time and space i can endure,
In fact, i can endure most anything.
But loneliness, (loneliness) loneliness, (loneliness)
Is something i can't endure.
How could i stand loneliness, loneliness?
How are you suppose to cope with loneliness, loneliness?
How would one live with loneliness, loneliness, lo-oh-loneliness?
Lo-oh-loneliness.
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)
(loneliness, so lonely)

song performed by Yoko Ono
Added by Lucian Velea
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Oh That's Right You're Just Another Girl

i like the echo of the narrow mountain:


Oh! that's right
You're just another girl
That loves to show of And to feel important at the same time

And to feel important at the same time
And to feel important at the same time
at the same time at the same time
at the same time at the same time
same time same time same time same time
And to feel important at the same time
And to feel important at the same time
at the same time at the same time
at the same time at the same time
same time same time same time same time
at the same time at the same time
at the same time at the same time
same time same time same time same time
And to feel important at the same time
And to feel important at the same time
at the same time at the same time
at the same time at the same time
same time same time same time same time
And to feel important at the same time
And to feel important at the same time
at the same time at the same time

Oh! that's right
You're just another girl
You're just another girl
You're just another girl
You're just another girl

aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo aldo

crash! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! ! krassssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssssss sss!

poem by Ric S. Bastasa
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That Depends On the Enlightenment of Your Consciousness

How much more pain can you endure?
That's a good question!
How much more would you like?
Would you like that with or without an appetitizer?

You seem to prefer your suffering done,
With a full voicing of complaint.
You seem to have awaited,
The moment of its infliction.
Then you began...
A whining without constraint!

How much more pain can you endure?
How much more would you like?
When did you decide,
That an enduring of it...
Brought to you more dignity?
And enhanced your pride in others' eyes?

How much more pain can you endure?
You seem to enjoy it with cocktails.
Or at least with others,
Who feel their afflictions...
Increases a degree of a perceived patriotism!
And of course...
No end appears in sight for your noble sacrifice.

How much more pain can you endure?
That's a good question!
But I am sure,
When you begin to hold yourself accountable for it...
You will awaken to discover,
The foolishness of your decision.
And those you believed had your best interests...
Kept you in pain to obtain their own gains!

And how much of their gain,
Can you endure at your expense?
That depends on the enlightenment of your consciousness.
And your willingness to seek some answers,
When you have been detoxed from your addiction!
Without the need to martyr or bleed away,
Your right to a peace of mind...
That has obviously become no one's concern!
And this is a lesson,
You aren't the only one...
That has to learn!

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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The Pastime of Pleasure : The First Part.

Here begynneth the passe tyme of pleasure.

Ryyght myghty prynce / & redoubted souerayne
Saylynge forthe well / in the shyppe of grace
Ouer the wawes / of this lyfe vncertayne
Ryght towarde heuen / to haue dwellynge place
Grace dothe you guyde / in euery doubtfull cace
Your gouernaunce / dothe euermore eschewe
The synne of slouthe / enemy to vertewe
Grace stereth well / the grace of god is grete
Whiche you hathe brought / to your ryall se
And in your ryght / it hath you surely sette
Aboue vs all / to haue the soueraynte
Whose worthy power / and regall dygnyte
All our rancour / and our debate and ceace
Hath to vs brought / bothe welthe reste and peace
Frome whome dyscendeth / by the ryghtfull lyne
Noble pryuce Henry / to succede the crowne
That in his youthe / dothe so clerely shyne
In euery vertu / castynge the vyce adowne
He shall of fame / attayne the hye renowne
No doubte but grace / shall hym well enclose
Whiche by trewe ryght / sprange of the reed rose
Your noble grace / and excellent hyenes
For to accepte / I beseche ryght humbly
This lytell boke / opprest with rudenes
Without rethorycke / or colour crafty
Nothynge I am / experte in poetry
As the monke of Bury / floure of eloquence
Whiche was in tyme / of grete excellence
Of your predecessour / the .v. kynge henry
Vnto whose grace / he dyde present
Ryght famous bokes / of parfyte memory
Of his faynynge with termes eloquent
Whose fatall fyccyons / are yet permanent
Grounded on reason / with clowdy fygures
He cloked the trouthe / of all his scryptures
The lyght of trouthe / I lacke connynge to cloke
To drawe a curtayne / I dare not to presume
Nor hyde my mater / with a mysty smoke
My rudenes connynge / dothe so sore cōsume
Yet as I maye / I shall blowe out a fume
To hyde my mynde / vnderneth a fable
By conuert colour / well and probable
Besechynge your grace / to pardon myne ignoraunce
Whiche this fayned fable / to eschewe ydlenesse
Hane so compyled / now without doubtaunce
For to present / to your hye worthynesse
To folowe the trace / and all the parfytenesse
Of my mayster Lydgate / with due exercyse

[...] Read more

poem by Stephen Hawes
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Meant to Be Overheard

Listen to them...
And you can tell,
What kinds of people they are.
And what they value,
Most!
What they boast about!
And how that is done well.

It's important to them,
Where they live.
And the prices of the homes,
In their neighborhoods.

It's important to them,
Who they know.
And where they socialize,
At the private clubs they go!

It's important to them,
What they drive.
And the number of vehicles they own.
What they purchase and where they shop!
The prices paid.
To which charities they give.
And the amounts they gave!

It's important to them,
How many degrees they have.
Which schools they were on the honor roll.
The training of their pets.
And where their children are currently enrolled.

It's important to them,
Where they take vacations.
And travel first class...
'Of course! Don't you? '
On buses, trains and planes.
And that once a year 30 day cruise.

It's important to them,
Where they wine and dine.
With the utmost of etiquette.

It's important to them,
The churches they attend.
Their religious and political affiliations.
Where near the pulpit on pews they sit.
And how much they donate...
As an 'anonymous' gift!

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Why Did This Have To Happen To Me Lord?

If you were walking upon the warm sands
of a beautiful spring beach as the sun held
steady midday course in clear blue sky as
kind wind swept as a soft free breeze across...
reflective beauty of beautiful sand dunes
laced with clumps tufts of wild tussock grass
herbfield habitats stop sand blow harbour
insects foods for insects birds small animals...

long grass roots aid dune slope stabilization
erosion control soil porosity sweet water life
hydraulic conductivity of pore spaces ratio
of permeability of material pores compaction...
degree of saturation water movement through
saturated media infiltration process by which
water on the ground surface enters soil through
pores by forces of gravity and capillary action...

behold superlative intricate complexity laws
fixed in descending levels detail even in pore
spaces macropore mesopore; micropore where
pores water filled at permanent wilting point...
are too small for a plant to use without great
difficulty; water associated usually adsorbed
onto the surfaces of clay molecules; water held
in micropores important to activity of microbes...

creating moist anaerobic conditions; water can
also cause process either oxidation or reduction
of molecules in crystalline structure soil minerals.

Behold Lord God who counts every hair on head
sees every sparrow that falls, counts every tear you
cry, walks also these beach sands in your agony as
you ask; why did this have to happen to me Lord?

Desolation overcomes you duchess in flowing cry
torn soul agony pain of matrimonial separation as
you lament suffering of these your young children
in conflict emotion tugged between divided parents.

And Lord God spoke to your mind boiling turmoil
drowning in tear flood choking soul; Lord God in
sympathy nurturing said unto you; speaking in clear
crystal waters flowing near throne heaven spoke!

This is the question Lord God of wonder beyond
human comprehension; creator of complexities in
scales vast; all defined in dimensions laws, range
in dynamics we strive to embrace said unto thee.

[...] Read more

poem by Terence George Craddock
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Death Row

Guilty by association
Guilty due to unusual circumstances
Guilty by act of contrition
Keep on taking chances
Some lives are not important
Justice is purchased like hot bagels
If you are poor, you can easily find yourselves under the barrels
Some lives are not important
The bulldozer has plenty of time to differentiate
To choose, to pick and to discriminate
Be at the wrong place at an odd time
Is enough to find a pauper guilty of a first degree crime
It is criminal to be on death row
It is illegal and unconscionable to be so low
When the subject is forced to admit guilt
Where Judge and Prosecutors, members of the cult
Plot to convict an innocent bystander
Some lives are not important
This is sad, the jurors are the clowns of the slaughter house
A human being wearing trousers and a white blouse
Should not be treated like a nymph of the meteor crater.

In reality, under the clouds, there is no justice
Somewhere under the cave, there is a long list
Of countless children of the gods
Which have been executed by all types of cruel methods
Some lives are not important
“Thou shall not kill”, is no longer part
Of the Ten Commandments. The machine has no heart
No soul and no sense of fairness
Some lives are not important
This society of savagery and wilderness
Has to change for the better. The killing has to end
The lynching has to stop. Serious men and women must amend
The Constitution to protect the entire population
No one has the right to kill; the Institution
Ought to do a much better job than in the past
Some lives are not important
The system must be fair, blind and just at last
Blame lions, leopards and tigers, not the sheep
Injustice is too expensive and justice too cheap
It is too easy to accuse, condemn and execute
Bring the Bible, the Koran to teach the Blind and the Mute.

poem by Hebert Logerie
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A Map Of Culture

Culture

Contents

What is Culture?

The Importance of Culture

Culture Varies

Culture is Critical

The Sociobiology Debate

Values, Norms, and Social Control

Signs and Symbols

Language

Terms and Definitions

Approaches to the Study of Culture

Are We Prisoners of Our Culture?

What is Culture?

I prefer the definition used by Ian Robertson: 'all the shared products of society: material and nonmaterial' (Our text defines it in somewhat more ponderous terms- 'The totality of learned, socially transmitted behavior. It includes ideas, values, and customs (as well as the sailboats, comic books, and birth control devices) of groups of people' (p.32) .

Back to Contents

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poem by Nyein Way
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ENDURE...by talile ali

INTRO AND CHORUS

I GOT THE POWER
YOU GOT THE POWER
WE GO TTHE POWER
TO ENDURE

V1
LIFE CAN BE GRITTY
LIFE CAN BE SWEET
LIFE CAN BE UGLY
LIFE CAN BE NEAT

V2
RUNNING FOR SOMETHING
RUNNING IN TIME
RUNNING TIL YOU ARE LEFT BEHIND

V3
THE WHEELS KEEP ON SPINNING
THE WORLD NEVER STOPS
THE POOR KEEP ON TRYING
WHILE THR RICH TREAD HEAVILY ON TOP

V4
ENDURE
WE ALL MUST ENDURE
BE SURE
WE ALL WILL ENDURE

poem by Talile Ali
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I decline to accept the end of man. It is easy enough to say that man is immortal because he will endure: that when the last ding-dong of doom has clanged and faded from the last worthless rock hanging tideless in the last red and dying evening, that even then there will still be one more sound: that of his puny inexhaustible voice, still talking. I refuse to accept this. I believe that man will not merely endure: he will prevail. He is immortal, not because he alone among creatures has an inexhaustible voice, but because he has a soul, a spirit capable of compassion and sacrifice and endurance. The poet's, the writer's, duty is to write about these things. It is his privilege to help man endure by lifting his heart, by reminding him of the courage and honor and hope and pride and compassion and pity and sacrifice which have been the glory of his past. The poet's voice need not merely be the record of man, it can be one of the props, the pillars to help him endure and prevail.

quote by William Faulkner
Added by Veronica Serbanoiu
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The Remedy of Love

When Cupid read this title, straight he said,
'Wars, I perceive, against me will be made.'
But spare, oh Love! to tax thy poet so,
Who oft bath borne thy ensign 'gainst thy foe;
I am not he by whom thy mother bled,
When she to heaven on Mars his horses fled.
I oft, like other youths, thy flame did prove,
And if thou ask, what I do still? I love.
Nay, I have taught by art to keep Love's course,
And made that reason which before was force.
I seek not to betray thee, pretty boy,
Nor what I once have written to destroy.
If any love, and find his mistress kind,
Let him go on, and sail with his own wind;
But he that by his love is discontented,
To save his life my verses were invented.
Why should a lover kill himself? or why
Should any, with his own grief wounded, die?
Thou art a boy, to play becomes thee still,
Thy reign is soft; play then, and do not kill;
Or if thou'lt needs be vexing, then do this,
Make lovers meet by stealth, and steal a kiss
Make them to fear lest any overwatch them,
And tremble when they think some come to catch them;
And with those tears that lovers shed all night,
Be thou content, but do not kill outright.—
Love heard, and up his silver wings did heave,
And said, 'Write on; I freely give thee leave.'
Come then, all ye despised, that love endure,
I, that have felt the wounds, your love will cure;
But come at first, for if you make delay,
Your sickness will grow mortal by your stay:
The tree, which by delay is grown so big,
In the beginning was a tender twig;
That which at first was but a span in length,
Will, by delay, be rooted past men's strength.
Resist beginnings, medicines bring no curing
Where sickness is grown strong by long enduring.
When first thou seest a lass that likes thine eye,
Bend all thy present powers to descry
Whether her eye or carriage first would shew
If she be fit for love's delights or no:
Some will be easy, such an one elect;
But she that bears too grave and stern aspect,
Take heed of her, and make her not thy jewel,
Either she cannot love, or will be cruel.
If love assail thee there, betime take heed,
Those wounds are dangerous that inward bleed;
He that to-day cannot shake off love's sorrow,
Will certainly be more unapt to-morrow.

[...] Read more

poem by Francis Beaumont
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Psalm 136 Abridged

God's wonders of creation, providence, redemption, and salvation.

Give to our God immortal praise;
Mercy and truth are all his ways:
Wonders of grace to God belong,
Repeat his mercies in your song.

Give to the Lord of lords renown,
The King of kings with glory crown:
His mercies ever shall endure,
When lords and kings are known no more.

He built the earth, he spread the sky,
And fixed the starry lights on high:
Wonders of grace to God belong,
Repeat his mercies in your song.

He fills the sun with morning light;
He bids the moon direct the night:
His mercies ever shall endure,
When suns and moons shall shine no more.

The Jews he freed from Pharaoh's hand,
And brought them to the promised land
Wonders of grace to God belong,
Repeat his mercies in your song.

He saw the Gentiles dead in sin,
And felt his pity work within
His mercies ever shall endure,
When death and sin shall reign no more.

He sent his Son with power to save
From guilt, and darkness, and the grave
Wonders of grace to God belong,
Repeat his mercies in your song.

Through this vain world he guides our feet,
And leads us to his heav'nly seat
His mercies ever shall endure,
When this vain world shall be no more.

poem by Isaac Watts
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Keep Them Barred

Don't accept fresh trouble not yours,
To endure...
Keep it barred.
From your life,
Don't have it start.

Don't accept fresh trouble not yours,
To endure...
Keep it barred.
From your life,
Don't have it start.

People creeping out of cracks,
With crap to attack.
Keep them barred,
From your life...
Don't have them start.

Establish the fact you are better than that!
And don't be scarred...
To arrest a peace that will depart.
Oh-oh-no!

Don't accept fresh trouble not yours,
To endure...
Keep it barred.
From your life,
Don't have it start.

Decide you'll have none of it,
And quick!
Keep it barred.
You can resist it.
Keep it barred.
Be realistic.
Keep it barred.

Let go those woes,
You may hold.
Let go those woes,
You may hold.

Decide you'll have none of it,
And quick!
Keep it barred.
You can resist it.
Keep it barred.
Be realistic.
Keep it barred.

[...] Read more

poem by Lawrence S. Pertillar
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Book III - Part 03 - The Soul is Mortal

Now come: that thou mayst able be to know
That minds and the light souls of all that live
Have mortal birth and death, I will go on
Verses to build meet for thy rule of life,
Sought after long, discovered with sweet toil.
But under one name I'd have thee yoke them both;
And when, for instance, I shall speak of soul,
Teaching the same to be but mortal, think
Thereby I'm speaking also of the mind-
Since both are one, a substance interjoined.

First, then, since I have taught how soul exists
A subtle fabric, of particles minute,
Made up from atoms smaller much than those
Of water's liquid damp, or fog, or smoke,
So in mobility it far excels,
More prone to move, though strook by lighter cause
Even moved by images of smoke or fog-
As where we view, when in our sleeps we're lulled,
The altars exhaling steam and smoke aloft-
For, beyond doubt, these apparitions come
To us from outward. Now, then, since thou seest,
Their liquids depart, their waters flow away,
When jars are shivered, and since fog and smoke
Depart into the winds away, believe
The soul no less is shed abroad and dies
More quickly far, more quickly is dissolved
Back to its primal bodies, when withdrawn
From out man's members it has gone away.
For, sure, if body (container of the same
Like as a jar), when shivered from some cause,
And rarefied by loss of blood from veins,
Cannot for longer hold the soul, how then
Thinkst thou it can be held by any air-
A stuff much rarer than our bodies be?

Besides we feel that mind to being comes
Along with body, with body grows and ages.
For just as children totter round about
With frames infirm and tender, so there follows
A weakling wisdom in their minds; and then,
Where years have ripened into robust powers,
Counsel is also greater, more increased
The power of mind; thereafter, where already
The body's shattered by master-powers of eld,
And fallen the frame with its enfeebled powers,
Thought hobbles, tongue wanders, and the mind gives way;
All fails, all's lacking at the selfsame time.
Therefore it suits that even the soul's dissolved,
Like smoke, into the lofty winds of air;

[...] Read more

poem by Lucretius
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The Cenci : A Tragedy In Five Acts

DRAMATIS PERSONÆ

Count Francesco Cenci.
Giacomo, his Son.
Bernardo, his Son.
Cardinal Camillo.
Orsino, a Prelate.
Savella, the Pope's Legate.
Olimpio, Assassin.
Marzio, Assassin.
Andrea, Servant to Cenci.
Nobles, Judges, Guards, Servants.
Lucretia, Wife of Cenci, and Step-mother of his children.
Beatrice, his Daughter.

The Scene lies principally in Rome, but changes during the Fourth Act to Petrella, a castle among the Apulian Apennines.
Time. During the Pontificate of Clement VIII.

ACT I

Scene I.
-An Apartment in the Cenci Palace.
Enter Count Cenci, and Cardinal Camillo.

Camillo.
That matter of the murder is hushed up
If you consent to yield his Holiness
Your fief that lies beyond the Pincian gate.-
It needed all my interest in the conclave
To bend him to this point: he said that you
Bought perilous impunity with your gold;
That crimes like yours if once or twice compounded
Enriched the Church, and respited from hell
An erring soul which might repent and live:-
But that the glory and the interest
Of the high throne he fills, little consist
With making it a daily mart of guilt
As manifold and hideous as the deeds
Which you scarce hide from men's revolted eyes.

Cenci.
The third of my possessions-let it go!
Ay, I once heard the nephew of the Pope
Had sent his architect to view the ground,
Meaning to build a villa on my vines
The next time I compounded with his uncle:
I little thought he should outwit me so!

[...] Read more

poem by Percy Bysshe Shelley
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The Cōforte of Louers

The prohemye.

The gentyll poetes/vnder cloudy fygures
Do touche a trouth/and clokeit subtylly
Harde is to cōstrue poetycall scryptures
They are so fayned/& made sētēcyously
For som do wryte of loue by fables pryuely
Some do endyte/vpon good moralyte
Of chyualrous actes/done in antyquyte
Whose fables and storyes ben pastymes pleasaunt
To lordes and ladyes/as is theyr lykynge
Dyuers to moralyte/ben oft attendaunt
And many delyte to rede of louynge
Youth loueth aduenture/pleasure and lykynge
Aege foloweth polycy/sadnesse and prudence
Thus they do dyffre/eche in experyence
I lytell or nought/experte in this scyence
Compyle suche bokes/to deuoyde ydlenes
Besechynge the reders/with all my delygence
Where as I offende/for to correct doubtles
Submyttynge me to theyr grete gentylnes
As none hystoryagraffe/nor poete laureate
But gladly wolde folowe/the makynge of Lydgate
Fyrst noble Gower/moralytees dyde endyte
And after hym Cauncers/grete bokes delectable
Lyke a good phylozophre/meruaylously dyde wryte
After them Lydgate/the monke commendable
Made many wonderfull bokes moche profytable
But syth the are deed/& theyr bodyes layde in chest
I pray to god to gyue theyr soules good rest

Finis prohemii.

Whan fayre was phebus/w&supere; his bemes bryght
Amyddes of gemyny/aloft the fyrmament
Without blacke cloudes/castynge his pured lyght
With sorowe opprest/and grete incombrement
Remembrynge well/my lady excellent
Saynge o fortune helpe me to preuayle
For thou knowest all my paynfull trauayle
I went than musynge/in a medowe grene
Myselfe alone/amonge the floures in dede
With god aboue/the futertens is sene
To god I sayd/thou mayst my mater spede
And me rewarde/accordynge to my mede
Thou knowest the trouthe/I am to the true
Whan that thou lyst/thou mayst them all subdue
Who dyde preserue the yonge edyppus
Whiche sholde haue be slayne by calculacyon
To deuoyde grete thynges/the story sheweth vs

[...] Read more

poem by Stephen Hawes
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Tale XII

'SQUIRE THOMAS; OR THE PRECIPITATE CHOICE.

'Squire Thomas flatter'd long a wealthy Aunt,
Who left him all that she could give or grant;
Ten years he tried, with all his craft and skill,
To fix the sovereign lady's varying will;
Ten years enduring at her board to sit,
He meekly listen'd to her tales and wit:
He took the meanest office man can take,
And his aunt's vices for her money's sake:
By many a threat'ning hint she waked his fear,
And he was pain'd to see a rival near:
Yet all the taunts of her contemptuous pride
He bore, nor found his grov'ling spirit tried:
Nay, when she wish'd his parents to traduce,
Fawning he smiled, and justice call'd th' abuse:
'They taught you nothing: are you not at best,'
Said the proud Dame, 'a trifler, and a jest?
Confess you are a fool!'--he bow'd and he

confess'd.
This vex'd him much, but could not always last:
The dame is buried, and the trial past.
There was a female, who had courted long
Her cousin's gifts, and deeply felt the wrong;
By a vain boy forbidden to attend
The private councils of her wealthy friend,
She vow'd revenge, nor should that crafty boy
In triumph undisturb'd his spoils enjoy:
He heard, he smiled, and when the Will was read,
Kindly dismiss'd the Kindred of the dead;
'The dear deceased' he call'd her, and the crowd
Moved off with curses deep and threat'nings loud.
The youth retired, and, with a mind at ease,
Found he was rich, and fancied he must please:
He might have pleased, and to his comfort found
The wife he wish'd, if he had sought around,
For there were lasses of his own degree,
With no more hatred to the state than he;
But he had courted spleen and age so long,
His heart refused to woo the fair and young;
So long attended on caprice and whim,
He thought attention now was due to him;
And as his flattery pleased the wealthy Dame,
Heir to the wealth, he might the flattery claim:
But this the fair, with one accord, denied,
Nor waived for man's caprice the sex's pride.
There is a season when to them is due
Worship and awe, and they will claim it too:
'Fathers,' they cry, 'long hold us in their chain,

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poem by George Crabbe
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The Parish Register - Part III: Burials

THERE was, 'tis said, and I believe, a time
When humble Christians died with views sublime;
When all were ready for their faith to bleed,
But few to write or wrangle for their creed;
When lively Faith upheld the sinking heart,
And friends, assured to meet, prepared to part;
When Love felt hope, when Sorrow grew serene,
And all was comfort in the death-bed scene.
Alas! when now the gloomy king they wait,
'Tis weakness yielding to resistless fate;
Like wretched men upon the ocean cast,
They labour hard and struggle to the last;
'Hope against hope,' and wildly gaze around
In search of help that never shall be found:
Nor, till the last strong billow stops the breath,
Will they believe them in the jaws of Death!
When these my Records I reflecting read,
And find what ills these numerous births succeed;
What powerful griefs these nuptial ties attend;
With what regret these painful journeys end;
When from the cradle to the grave I look,
Mine I conceive a melancholy book.
Where now is perfect resignation seen?
Alas! it is not on the village-green: -
I've seldom known, though I have often read,
Of happy peasants on their dying-bed;
Whose looks proclaimed that sunshine of the breast,
That more than hope, that Heaven itself express'd.
What I behold are feverish fits of strife,
'Twixt fears of dying and desire of life:
Those earthly hopes, that to the last endure;
Those fears, that hopes superior fail to cure;
At best a sad submission to the doom,
Which, turning from the danger, lets it come.
Sick lies the man, bewilder'd, lost, afraid,
His spirits vanquish'd, and his strength decay'd;
No hope the friend, the nurse, the doctor lend -
'Call then a priest, and fit him for his end.'
A priest is call'd; 'tis now, alas! too late,
Death enters with him at the cottage-gate;
Or time allow'd--he goes, assured to find
The self-commending, all-confiding mind;
And sighs to hear, what we may justly call
Death's common-place, the train of thought in all.
'True I'm a sinner,' feebly he begins,
'But trust in Mercy to forgive my sins:'
(Such cool confession no past crimes excite!
Such claim on Mercy seems the sinner's right!)
'I know mankind are frail, that God is just,
And pardons those who in his Mercy trust;

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poem by George Crabbe
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Paradise Lost: Book X

Thus they in lowliest plight repentant stood
Praying, for from the Mercie-seat above
Prevenient Grace descending had remov'd
The stonie from thir hearts, and made new flesh
Regenerat grow instead, that sighs now breath'd
Unutterable, which the Spirit of prayer
Inspir'd, and wing'd for Heav'n with speedier flight
Then loudest Oratorie: yet thir port
Not of mean suiters, nor important less
Seem'd thir Petition, then when th' ancient Pair
In Fables old, less ancient yet then these,
Deucalion and chaste Pyrrha to restore
The Race of Mankind drownd, before the Shrine
Of Themis stood devout. To Heav'n thir prayers
Flew up, nor missed the way, by envious windes
Blow'n vagabond or frustrate: in they passd
Dimentionless through Heav'nly dores; then clad
With incense, where the Golden Altar fum'd,
By thir great Intercessor, came in sight
Before the Fathers Throne: Them the glad Son
Presenting, thus to intercede began.
See Father, what first fruits on Earth are sprung
From thy implanted Grace in Man, these Sighs
And Prayers, which in this Golden Censer, mixt
With Incense, I thy Priest before thee bring,
Fruits of more pleasing savour from thy seed
Sow'n with contrition in his heart, then those
Which his own hand manuring all the Trees
Of Paradise could have produc't, ere fall'n
From innocence. Now therefore bend thine eare
To supplication, heare his sighs though mute;
Unskilful with what words to pray, let mee
Interpret for him, mee his Advocate
And propitiation, all his works on mee
Good or not good ingraft, my Merit those
Shall perfet, and for these my Death shall pay.
Accept me, and in mee from these receave
The smell of peace toward Mankinde, let him live
Before thee reconcil'd, at least his days
Numberd, though sad, till Death, his doom (which I
To mitigate thus plead, not to reverse)
To better life shall yeeld him, where with mee
All my redeemd may dwell in joy and bliss,
Made one with me as I with thee am one.
To whom the Father, without Cloud, serene.
All thy request for Man, accepted Son,
Obtain, all thy request was my Decree:
But longer in that Paradise to dwell,
The Law I gave to Nature him forbids:
Those pure immortal Elements that know

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poem by John Milton
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