orms the effect of fire.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. II_. MILTON.

Drew audience and attention still as night
Or summer's noontide air.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. II_. MILTON.

As one who long in populous city pent,
Where houses thick and sewers annoy the air.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. IX_, MILTON.

Nor waste their sweetness in the desert air.
_Gotham, Bk. II_. C. CHURCHILL.

AMBITION.

Ambition is our idol, on whose wings
Great minds are carried only to extreme;
To be sublimely great, or to be nothing.
_The Loyal Brother, Act i. Sc. 1_. T. SOUTHERNE.

To reign is worth ambition, though in hell:
Better to reign in hell, than serve in heaven.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. I_. MILTON.

Rather than be less
Cared not to be at all.
_Paradise Lost, Bk. II_. MILTON.

Lowliness is young ambition's ladder,
Whereto the climber-upward turns his face;
But when he once attains the upmost round,
He then unto the ladder turns his back,
Looks in the clouds, scorning the base degrees
By which he did ascend.
_Julius Caesar, Act ii. Sc. 1_. SHAKESPEARE.

I have no spur
To prick the sides of my intent; but only
Vaulting ambition, which o'erleaps itself,
And falls on the other.
_Macbeth, Act i. Sc. 7_. SHAKESPEARE.

But wild ambition loves to slide, not stand,
And Fortune's ice prefers to Virtue's land.
_Absalom and Achitophel, Pt. I_. J. DRYDEN.

Ambition's monstrous stomach does increase
By eating, and it fears to starve unless
It still may feed, and all it sees devour.
_Playhouse to Let_. SIR W. DAVENANT.

But see how oft ambition's aims are crossed,
And chiefs contend 'til all the prize is lost!
_Rape of the Lock, Canto V_. A. POPE.

O, sons of earth! attempt ye still to rise,
By mountains piled on mountains to the skies?
Heaven still with laughter the vain toil surveys,
And buries madmen in the heaps they raise.
_Essay on Man, Epistle IV_. A. POPE.

The very substance of the ambitious is merely the shadow
of a dream.
_Hamlet, Act ii. Sc. 2_. SHAKESPEARE.

Why then doth flesh, a bubble-glass of breath,
Hunt after honour and advancement vain,
And rear a trophy for devouring death?
_Ruins of Time_. E. SPENSER.

Oh, sons of earth! attempt ye still to rise
By mountains piled on mountains to the skies?
Heaven still with laughter the vain toil surveys,
And buries madmen in the heaps they raise.
_Essay on Man_. A. POPE.

AN