ling let him nothing call
But Coach! Coach! Coach! O for a coach, ye gods!

ISAAC WATTS.
1674-1748.

DIVINE SONGS.

To God the Father, God the Son,
And God the Spirit, three in one,
Be honor, praise, and glory given,
By all on earth, and all in heaven.

* * * * *

Hush! my dear, lie still and slumber
Holy angels guard thy bed!
Heavenly blessings without number
Gently falling on thy head.

* * * * *

Let dogs delight to bark and bite,
For God hath made them so;
Let bears and lions growl and fight.
For 'tis their nature too.

* * * * *

How doth the little busy bee
Improve each shining hour,
And gather honey all the day,
From every opening flower.

* * * * *

Hark! from the tombs a doleful sound.
'Tis the voice of the sluggard, I heard him complain,
"You have waked me too soon, I must slumber again."

SIR SAMUEL TUKE.
--1673.

_Adventures of Five Hours_. Act v. Sc. 3.

He is a fool who thinks by force or skill
To turn the current of a woman's will.

* * * * *

AARON HILL
1685-1750.

_Epilogue to Zara_.

First, then, a woman will, or won't--depend on 't;
If she will do 't, she will; and there's an end on 't.
But, if she won't, since safe and sound your trust is,
Fear is affront: and jealousy injustice.[17]

* * * * *

_Verses Written on a Window in Scotland_.

Tender-handed stroke a nettle,
And it stings you for your pains;
Grasp it like a man of mettle,
And it soft as silk remains.

[Note 17: The following lines are copied from the pillar erected on
the mount in the Dane John Field, Canterbury:
"Where is the man who has the power and skill
To stem the torrent of a woman's will?
For if she will, she will, you may depend on 't;
And if she won't, she won't; so there's an end on't."]

'Tis the same with common natures:
Use 'em kindly, they rebel;
But be rough as nutmeg-graters,
And the rogues obey you well.

* * * * *

RICHARD SAVAGE.
1698-1743.

_The Bastard_. Line 7.

He lives to build, not boast a generous race:
No tenth transmitter of a foolish face.

* * * * *

JAMES THOMSON.
1700-1748.
THE SEASONS.

_Spring_. Line 283.

Base envy withers at another's joy,
And hates that exc