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heart is inscrutable. For multitude of jealousies, and lack of some predominant desire that should marshal and put in order all the rest, make any man's heart hard to find or sound Hence it comes likewise, that princes many times make themselves desires, and set their hearts upon toys; sometimes - upon a building; sometimes upon erecting of an

order ; sometimes upon the advancing of a person ; sometimes upon obtaining excellency in some art or feat of the hand; as Nero for playing on the harp; Dmitian for certainty of the hand with the arrow; Commodus for playing at fence; Caracalla for driving chariots, and the like.

Lord Bacon.

Works, vol. iii. p.327. Had the meanest and most uncivilised peasant leave incognito' to observe the greatest king for a fortnight: though he might pick out several things he would like for himself, yet he would find a great many more, which, if the monarch and he were to change conditions, he would wish for his part to have immediately altered or*redressed, and which with amazement he sees the king subinit to. And again, if the sovereign was to examine the peasant in the same manner, his labour would be insufferabie, his diet, pastimes, and recreations, would be all abominable ; but then what charms would he find in the other's

of mind, the calmness and tranquility of his soul? No necessity of dissimulation with any of his fa. mily, or feigned affection to his mortal enemies, no wife in a foreign interest; no danger to apprehend from his children; no plots to unravel, no poison to fear; no popular statesinan at home, or cunning courts abroad to manage ; no seeming patriots to bribe; no unsatiable favourite to gratify; no selfish ministry to obey; no divided pation to please, or fickle mob to humour, that would direct and interfere with his pleasures.

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MANDEVILLE.

Essay on Cbarity Scbools. The possession of a throne could never yet

af. ford a lasting satisfaction to an ambitious mind.This melancholy truth was felt and acknowledged by Severus. “ Fortune and merit had; from an humble station, elevated him to the first place among mankind.

“ He had been all things," as he said himself, “ and all was of little value.

.”

GIBBON

Roman Empire, vol. i. p. 130. The lives and labours of millions are devoted to the service of a despotic prince, whose laws are blindly. obeyed, and whose wishes are instantly gratified. Our imagination is dazzled by the splendid picture ; and whatever may be the cool dictates of reason, there are few among us who would obstinately refuse a trial of the comforts and cares of royalty. It may therefore be of some use to bora row the experience of Abdal Rahman, whose mag, nificence has perhaps excited our admiration and envy, and to transcribe an authentic memorial. which was found in the closet of the deceased caliph.." I have now reigned above fifty years in “victory or peace; beloved by my subjects, dread-1

“ed

“ed by my enemies, and respected by my allies. “ Riches and honours, power and pleasure, have “ waited on my call, nor does any earthly blessing

appear to have been wanting to my felicity. In “ this situation I have diligently numbered the days “ of pure and genuine happiness, which have “ fallen to my lot, they amount to fourteen.

Ib. vol. v. p. 340. MARIA THERE$4, queen of Hungary, said, when she was dying, “ Since I have been queen,

I
ç have experienced but one happy day.”
Letters of Madame, widow of Monsieur, brother

7 of Lewis XIV
How much do they mistake, how little know
Of kings, of kingdoms, and the pains which flow
From royalty, who fancy that a crown,
Because it glistens, must be lin'd with down.
With outside show, and vain appearance caught,
They look no farther, and by folly taught,
Prize high che toys of thrones, but never find
One of the many cares which lurk behind.
The gem they worship, which a crown adorns,
Nor once suspect that crown is lin'd with thorns.
O might reflection folly's place supply,
Would we one moment use her piercing eye,
Then should we learn what woe from grandeur

springs,
And learn to pity, not to envy kings!

The villager, born hu nbly, and bred hard,
Content his wealth, and poverty his guard,
In action simply just, in conscience clear,

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By guilt untainted, undisturb’d by fear,
His means but scanty, and his wants but few,
Labour his business and his pleasure too,
Enjoys more comforts in a single bour,
Than ages give the wretch condemn’d to power.

Call'd up by health, he rises with the day,
And goes to work, as if he went to play,
Whistling off toils, one half of which might make
The stoutest Atlas of a palace quake;
'Gainst heat and cold, which make us cowards faint,
Harden'd by constant use, without complaint
He bears, what we should think it death to bear;
Short are his meals, and homely is his fare ;
His thirst he slakes at some poor neighb’ring brook,
Nor asks for sauce where appetite stands cook.
When the dews fall, and when the sun retires
Behind the mountains, when the village fires,
Which, waken'd all at once, speak supper nigh,
At distance catch, and fix his longing eye,
Homeward he hies, and with his manly brood
Of raw-bon'd cubs, enjoys that clean, coarse food,
Which, season'd with good humour, his fond bride
'Gainst his return is happy to provide.
Then free from care, and free from thought, he

creeps Into his straw, and till the morning sleeps.

Not so the king-with anxious cares oppress'd, His bosom labours, and admits not rest. A glorious wretch, he sweats beneath the weight Of majesty, and gives up ease for state. E’en when his smiles, which, by the fools of pride, Are treasur'd and preserva, from side to side,

Fly

Fly round the court, e’ea when compellid by form,
He seems most calm, his soul is in a storin!
Care, like a spectre, seen by him alone,
With all her nest of vipers, round his throne
By day crawls full in view ; when night bids sleep,
Sweet nurse of nature, o'er the senses creep,
When misery herself no more complains,
And slaves, if possible, forget their chains,
Tho' his sense weakens, tho' his eyes grow dim,
That rest which comes to all, comes not to him.
E'en at that hour, CARE, tyrant CARE, forbids
The dew of sleep to fall upon his lids;
From night to night she watches at his bed ;
Now, as one mop'd, sits brooding o'er his head,
Anon she starts, and, borne on raven's wings,
Croaks forth aloud-Sleep was not made for kings!

CHURCHÍL.

Gotham, vol. ii. p. 162. What infinite heart's-ease must kings neglect, That private men enjoy ; And what have kings, that privates have not too, Save ceremony, save general ceremony ? And what art thou, thou idol ceremony

? What kind of God art thou, that suffer'st more What are thy rents, thy comings-in? Of mortal grief than do thy worshippers ? What is thy soul of adoration ? O ceremony! show me but thy worth. Art thou ought else but place, degree. and form, Creating awe and fear in other men, Wherein thou art less happy, being fear'd, Than they in fearing?

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