s. ii., Line 131.

Some flow'rets of Eden ye still inherit,
But the trail of the Serpent is over them all.
1646
MOORE: _Paradise and the Peri._

=Service.=

Ful wel she sange the service devine,
Entuned in hire nose ful swetely.
1647
CHAUCER: _Canterbury Tales, Prologue,_ Line 122.

And ye shall succor men;
'T is nobleness to serve;
Help them who cannot help again:
Beware from right to swerve.
1648
EMERSON: _Boston Hymn,_ St. 13.

=Sex.=

Think you I am no stronger than my sex,
Being so father'd and so husbanded?
1649
SHAKS.: _Jul. Caesar,_ Act ii., Sc. 1.

Spirits when they please,
Can either sex assume, or both.
1650
MILTON: _Par. Lost,_ Bk. i., Line 423.

=Sexton.=

See yonder maker of the dead man's bed,
The sexton, hoary-headed chronicle!
Of hard, unmeaning face, down which ne'er stole
A gentle tear; with mattock in his hand,
Digs thro' whole rows of kindred and acquaintance
By far his juniors! Scarce a skull's cast up
But well he knew its owner, and can tell
Some passage of his life.
1651
BLAIR: _The Grave,_ Line 452.

His death, which happened in his berth,
At forty-odd befell:
They went and told the sexton, and
The sexton tolled the bell.
1652
HOOD: _Faithless Sally Brown._

=Shadow.=

Shine out, fair sun, till I have bought a glass,
That I may see my shadow as I pass.
1653
SHAKS.: _Richard III.,_ Act i., Sc. 2.

Syene, and where the shadow both way falls,
Meroe, Nilotic isle.
1654
MILTON: _Par. Regained,_ Bk. iv., Line 70.

Our acts our angels are, or good or ill,
Our fatal shadows that walk by us still.
1655
JOHN FLETCHER: _Upon an "Honest Man's Fortune."_

=Shaft.=

In my school-days, when I had lost one shaft,
I shot his fellow of the selfsame flight
The selfsame way, with more advised watch,
To find the other forth; and by adventuring both
I oft found both.
1656
SHAKS.: _M. of Venice,_ Act i., Sc. 1.

That eagle's fate and mine are one,
Which on the shaft that made him die
Espied a feather of his own,
Wherewith he wont to soar so high.
1657
WALLER: _To a Lady Singing a Song of his Composing._

=Shakespeare.=

Soul of the age!
Th' applause! delight! the wonder of our stage!
My Shakespeare, rise! I will not lodge thee by
Chaucer, or Spenser, or bid Beaumont lie
A little further, to make thee room;
Thou art a monument, without a tomb,
And art alive still, while thy book doth live,
And we have wits to re