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TRANQUILLITY appears by the composure of the countenance and general repose of the whole body, without the exertion of any one muscle. The countenance open, the forehead smooth, the eyebrows arched, the mouth just not shut, and the eyes passing with an easy motion from object to object, but not dwelling long upon any one. Cheerfulness adds a smile to tranquillity, and opens the mouth a little more.


Now, my co-mates, and brothers in exile,

Hath not old custom made this life more sweet
Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods
More free from peril than the envious court?

Here feel we but the penalty of Adam,
The season's difference; as the icy fang,
And churlish chiding of the winter's wind,
Which, when it bites and blows upon my body,
Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say,-
This is no flattery; these are counsellors,
That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Sweet are the uses of adversity;

Which, like the toad, ugly and venomous,
Wears yet a precious jewel in its head;

And this our life, exempt from public haunts,

Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

SHAKSPEARE's As You Like it.


MIRTH, or laughter, opens the mouth horizontally, raises the cheeks high, lessens the aperture of the eyes, and, when violent, shakes and convulses the whole frame, fills the eyes with tears, and occasions holding the sides from the pain the convulsive laughter gives them.


A FOOL,-a fool! I met a fool i' th' forest,
A motley fool;-a miserable varlet !—

As I do live by food, I met a fool ;

Who laid him down, and basked him in the sun,
And railed on Lady Fortune in good terms;
In good set terms, and yet a motley fool.
Good-morrow, fool, quoth I: No, sir, quoth he,
Call me not fool, till Heaven hath sent me fortune:
And then he drew a dial from his poke;


And looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Says, very wisely, It is ten o'clock:

Thus may we see, quoth he, how the world wags:
"Tis but an hour ago since it was nine,
And after one hour more 'twill be eleven ;
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
And then, from hour to hour, we rot and rot,
And thereby hangs a tale. When I did hear
The motley fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
That fools should be so deep-contemplative;
And I did laugh, sans intermission,
An hour by his dial. O noble fool!
A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.

SHAKSPEARE'S As You Like it.


RAILLERY, without animosity, puts on the aspect of cheerfulness; the countenance smiling, and the tone of voice sprightly.


LET me play the fool

With mirth and laughter; so let wrinkles come,
And let my liver rather heat with wine,

Than my heart cool with mortifying groans.

Why should a man, whose blood is warm within,
Sit like his grandsire cut in alabaster?

Sleep when he wakes, and creep into the jaundice,
By being peevish? I tell thee what, Antonio,
(I love thee, and it is my love that speaks),
There are a sort of men whose visages
Do cream and mantle like a standing pond,
And do a wilful stillness entertain,
With purpose to be drest in an opinion
Of wisdom, gravity, profound conceit,
As who should say, I am Sir Oracle,
And when I ope my lips, let no dog bark !
I'll tell thee more of this another time;
But fish not with this melancholy bait
For this fool's gudgeon, this opinion.
Come, good Lorenzo, fare ye well a while,
I'll end my exhortation after dinner.

SHAKSPEARE's Merchant of Venice.


Joy, when moderate, opens the countenance with smiles, and throws, as it were, a sunshine of delectation over the whole frame; when it is sudden and violent, it expresses itself by clapping the hands, raising the eyes towards heaven, and giving such a spring to the body as to make it attempt to mount up as if it could fly: when joy is extreme, and goes

into transport, rapture, and ecstasy, it has a wildness of look and gesture that borders on folly, madness, and sorrow.


IMOINDA, oh! this separation

Has made you dearer, if it can be so,
Than you were ever to me: you appear
Like a kind star to my benighted steps,
To guide me on my way to happiness;
I cannot miss it now. Governor, friend,
You think me mad: but let me bless you all
Who any ways have been the instruments
of finding her again. Imoinda's found!
And every thing that I would have in her.

I have a thousand things to ask of her,
And she as many more to know of me;
But you have made me happier, I confess,
Acknowledge it, much happier than I

Have words or power to tell you. Captain, you,
Even you, who most have wronged me, I forgive;
I will not say you have betrayed me now,

I'll think you but the minister of fate
To bring me to my loved Imoinda here.
Let the fools

Who follow Fortune live upon her smiles,
All our prosperity is placed in love;
We have enough of that to make us happy :
This little spot of earth you
stand upon
Is more to me than the extended plains
Of my great father's kingdom; here I reign
In full delight, in joys to power unknown,

Your love my empire, and your heart my throne.


SOUTHERN's Oroonoko.

LOVE gives a soft serenity to the countenance, a languishing to the eyes, a sweetness to the voice, and a tenderness to the whole frame; when entreating, it clasps the hands, with intermingled fingers, to the breast; when declaring, the right hand, open, is pressed with force upon the breast exactly over the heart; it makes its approaches with the utmost delicacy, and is attended with trembling, hesitation, and confusion.


WHAT you do

Still betters what is done. When you speak, sweet,
I'd have you do it ever : when you sing,

I'd have you buy and sell so, so give alms,
Pray so; and, for the ordering your affairs,

To sing them too: When you do dance, I wish you
A wave o' the sea, that you might ever do
Nothing but that; move still, still so,

And own no other function: each your doing,
So singular in each particular,

Crowns what you are doing in the present deeds,
That all your acts are queens.

SHAKSPEARE's Winter's Tale.


PITY shows itself in a compassionate tenderness of voice; a feeling of pain in the countenance, and a gentle raising and falling of the hands and eyes, as if mourning over the unhappy object. The mouth is open, the eyebrows are drawn down, and the features contracted or drawn together,


ALAS! poor Yorick! I knew him, Horatio; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy: he hath borne me on his back a thousand times; and now how abhorred in my imagination it is; my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now? Your gambols? Your songs? Your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now to mock your own grinning? Quite chop-fallen ? Now get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thick, to this favour she must come; make her laugh at that. SHAKSPEARE'S Hamlet.


HOPE erects and brightens the countenance, spreads the arms with the hands open, as to receive the object of its wishes: the voice is plaintive, and inclining to eagerness; the breath drawn inwards more forcibly than usual, in order to express our desires the more strongly, and our earnest expectation of receiving the object of them.


O HOPE, Sweet flatterer, whose delusive touch
Sheds on afflicted minds the balm of comfort;
Relieves the load of poverty; sustains
The captive bending with the weight of bonds,
And smooths the pillow of disease and pain;
Send back the exploring messenger with joy,
And let me hail thee from that friendly grove.
GLOVER'S Boadicea.


HATRED, or aversion, draws back the body as if to avoid the hated object; the hands at the same time thrown out spread, as if to keep it off. The face is turned away from that side towards which the hands are thrown out; the eyes looking angrily, and obliquely, the same way the hands are directed ;

the eyebrows are contracted, the upper-lip disdainfully drawn up, and the teeth set; the pitch of the voice is low, but loud and harsh, the tone chiding, unequal, surly, and vehement, the sentences are short and abrupt.


WHY, get thee gone! horror and night go with thee,
Sisters of Acheron, go hand in hand,

Go dance around the bower, and close them in;
And tell them that I sent you to salute them.
Profane the ground, and for the ambrosial rose
And breath of jessamine, let hemlock blacken,
And deadly nightshade poison all the air:
For the sweet nightingale may ravens croak,
Toads pant, and adders rustle through the leaves:
May serpents, winding up the trees, let fall
Their hissing necks upon them from above,
And mingle kisses such as I would give them.

YOUNG'S Revenge.


ANGER, when violent, expresses itself with rapidity, noise, harshness, and sometimes with interruption and hesitation, as if unable to utter with sufficient force. It wrinkles the brows, enlarges and heaves the nostrils, strains the muscles, clinches the fist, stamps with the foot, and gives a violent agitation to the whole body. The voice assumes the highest tone it can adopt consistently with force and loudness, though sometimes, to express anger with uncommon energy, the voice assumes a low and forcible tone.


WHY have those banished and forbidden legs
Dared once to touch a dust of England's ground?
But more than why-Why have they dared to march
So many miles upon her peaceful bosom ;

Frightening her pale-faced villagers with war,

And ostentation of despised arms?

Comest thou because the anointed king is hence?
Why, foolish boy, the king is left behind,

And in my loyal bosom lies his power.

Were I but now the lord of such hot youth

As when brave Gaunt, thy father, and myself,

Rescued the Black Prince, that young Mars of men,
From forth the ranks of many thousand French;
Oh, then, how quickly should this arm of mine,
Now prisoner to the palsy, chastise thee,

And minister correction to thy fault!


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