Poetry. Poetry is itself a thing of God.

P. J. BAILEY, Festus, Proem, line 5

Don't ever think the poetry is dead in an old man because his forehead is wrinkled, or that his manhood has left him when his hand trembles! If they ever were there, they are there still!

HOLMES, Autocrat of the Breakfast-Table, v

It is not poetry, but prose run mad.1

POPE, Epistle to Dr. Arbuthnot, line 188

The truest poetry is the most feigning.

SHAKESPEARE, As You Like It, iii, 3

I had rather hear a brazen canstick turned,
Or a dry wheel grate on the [an] axle-tree;
And that would set my teeth nothing on edge,
Nothing so much as mincing poetry:
'Tis like the forced gait of a shuffling nag.

SHAKESPEARE, King Henry IV, Part I, iii, 1

Poets. Three poets in three distant ages born,
Greece, Italy, and England did adorn.
The first, in loftiness of thought surpassed;
The next, in majesty; in both the last.
The force of Nature could no further go;
To make a third, she joined the other two.

DRYDEN, Lines Under Milton's Picture

What are our poets, take them as they fall,
Good, bad, rich, poor, much read, not read at all?
They and their works in the same class you'll find;
They are the mere waste-paper of mankind.

FRANKLIN, Paper, st. 10

Plain hoss-sense in poetry-writin'

Would jes knock sentiment a-kitin'!

Mostly poets is all star-gazin'

And moanin' and groanin' and paraphrasin'!

J. W. RILEY, A Wholly Unscholastic Opinion

Point. Not to put too fine a point upon it.

Poison.

DICKENS, Bleak House, xxxii

What's one man's poison, signor,

Is another's meat or drink.

BEAUMONT AND FLETCHER, Love's Cure, iii, 2

1 Poetic souls delight in prose insane.

BYRON, English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, line 38 [243]

310

Politicians Porridge

Politicians. It is the weaker sort of politicians that are the greatest dissemblers.

BACON, Essay VI: Of Simulation and Dissimulation

Politics. I should be glad to drink your honour's health in
A pot of beer, if you will give me sixpence;
But for my part, I never love to meddle

With politics, sir.-CANNING, The Friend of Humanity
and the Knife-Grinder, st. 8

Practical politics must not be construed to mean dirty politics. The most practical of all politicians is the politician who is clean and decent and upright. THEODORE ROOSEVELT, cited by Jacob Riis in

Theodore Roosevelt the Citizen, xvii

Pomp. Vain pomp and glory of this world, I hate ye!

SHAKESPEARE, King Henry VIII, iii, 2

Poor. Let not ambition mock their useful toil,
Their homely joys, and destiny obscure;

Nor grandeur hear with a disdainful smile
The short and simple annals of the poor.

GRAY, Elegy Written in a Country Churchyard, st. 9

He who ordained the Sabbath loves the poor.

HOLMES, A Rhymed Lesson, st. 22

My friends were poor, but honest; so's my love.
SHAKESPEARE, All's Well That Ends Well, i, 3

A poor, infirm, weak, and despised old man.

As poor as Job.

SHAKESPEARE, King Lear, iii, 2

SHAKESPEARE, Merry Wives of Windsor, v, 5 Taake my word for it, Sammy, the poor in a loomp is bad. TENNYSON, Northern Farmer, New Style, st. 12

Poor-house.

Over the hill to the poor-house I'm trudgin' my weary way. W. CARLETON, Over the Hill to the Poor-house, st. 1

Pope. Nor do I know what is become

Of him, more than the Pope of Rome.

BUTLER, Hudibras, I, iii, lines 263, 264

Pork. In converting Jews to Christians, you raise the price

of pork.

SHAKESPEARE, Merchant of Venice, iii, 5

Porridge. The halesome parritch, chief o' Scotia's food.

BURNS, The Cotter's Saturday Night, st. 11

Posterity.
As though there were a tie
And obligation to posterity,
We get them, bear them, breed and nurse.
What has posterity done for us,
That we, lest they their rights should lose,
Should trust our necks to gripe of noose?

gripe of UMBULL, McFingal, ii

Positivist. There was an ape in the days that were earlier;
Centuries passed, and his hair grew curlier;
Centuries more gave a thumb to his wrist,
Then he was a Man and a Positivist.

MORTIMER COLLINS, Darwin

Possibilities.-Seven hundred pounds and possibilities is good gifts.-SHAKESPEARE, Merry Wives of Windsor, i, I

Potatoes. Let the sky rain potatoes; let it thunder to the tune of Green Sleeves. Merry Wives of Windsor, v, 3

Potomac. All quiet along the Potomac to-night;
No sound save the rush of the river;
While soft falls the dew on the face of the dead -
The picket's off duty forever!-ETHEL LYNN BEERS,
All Quiet Along the Potomac, st. 6

Potter. Who is the Potter, pray, and who the Pot?1
OMAR KHAYYÁM, Rubáiyát (trans. Fitzgerald), st. 87

Poverty. Content with poverty, my soul I arm;
And virtue, though in rags, will keep me warm.
DRYDEN, Paraphrase of Horace, III, Ode

29, lines 86, 87

Apothecary. My poverty, but not my will, consents.
Romeo. I pay thy poverty, and not thy will.

SHAKESPEARE, Romeo and Juliet, v, 1

Pow. John Anderson my jo, John,
When we were first acquent
Your locks were like the raven,
Your bonnie brow was brent;
But now your brow is beld, John,
Your locks are like the snow;
But blessing on your frosty pow,
John Anderson my jo.

ROBERT BURNS, John Anderson, st. 1

Powder. Put your trust in God, my boys, and keep your

powder dry

COL. BLACKER, Oliver's Advice

Food for powder; they'll fill a pit as well as better.
SHAKESPEARE, King Henry IV, Part I, iv, 2

Something upon the soldier's cheek

Washed off the stains of powder.

BAYARD TAYLOR, Song of the Camp, st. 7

Power-house. The power-house of the Line!

Practised.

KIPLING, The Native-Born, st. 12

He practised what he preached.

J. ARMSTRONG, Art of Preserving Health

Praise. He praised me at a time when praise was of value SAMUEL JOHNSON, Life, by Boswell, 1745

to me.

Of whom to be dispraised were no small praise.

MILTON, Paradise Regained, III, line 56

With much to praise, little to be forgiven.

TOM TAYLOR, Abraham Lincoln, st. 19

Praise is the salt that seasons right to man,
And whets his appetite for moral good.

YOUNG, Night Thoughts, VII, lines 420, 421

Pray. Two went to pray? Oh rather say,
One went to brag, th' other to pray:

One stands up close and treads on high,
Where th' other dares not lend his eye.

One nearer to God's altar trod,
The other to the altar's God.

RICHARD CRASHAW, Divine Epigrams: Two

Went up into the Temple

Weep for the frail that err, the weak that fall,
Have thine own faith, but hope and pray for all!
HOLMES, A Rhymed Lesson, st. 30

Church is "a little heaven below,

I have been there and still would go,"

Yet I am none of those who think it odd

A man can pray unbidden from the cassock,
And, passing by the customary hassock,
Kneel down remote upon the simple sod,

And sue in forma pauperis to God.

HOOD, Ode to Rae Wilson, Esquire, st. 20 King Ferdinand. You shall fast a week with bran and

water.

Costard. I had rather pray a month with mutton and porridge. SHAKESPEARE, Love's Labour's Lost, i, 1

Prayed. Yet Enoch as a brave God-fearing man
Bowed himself down, and in that mystery
Where God-in-man is one with man-in-God,
Prayed for a blessing on his wife and babes.

TENNYSON, Enoch Arden, lines 185-188

There he would have knelt, but that his knees
Were feeble, so that falling prone he dug
His fingers into the wet earth, and prayed.'

Ibid., lines 774-776

Prayer. I stretch my hands out in the empty air;
I strain my eyes into the heavy night;
Blackness of darkness!

Grant me to see the light!

Father, hear my prayer

GEORGE ARNOLD, In the Dark

Ah! He who prayed the prayer of all mankind
Summed in those few brief words the mightiest plea
For erring souls before the courts of heaven,-
Save us from being tempted,- lest we fall!

HOLMES, Rights, lines 22-25

Prayer is the soul's sincere desire,
Uttered or unexpressed,

The motion of a hidden fire
That trembles in the breast."

JAMES MONTGOMERY, What is Prayer, st. 1

Oh, what form of prayer

Can serve my turn?

SHAKESPEARE, Hamlet, iii, 3

LONGFELLOW, Maidenhood, st. 9

Prayers. Thou child of many prayers!

Few and short were the prayers we said,
And we spoke not a word of sorrow,

But we steadfastly gazed on the face of the dead,
And we bitterly thought of the morrow.

Prayeth.

CHARLES WOLFE, Burial of Sir John Moore, st. 4

He prayeth well, who loveth well

Both man and bird and beast.

And here all hope soured on me

Of my feller-critter's aid,

I jest flopped down on my marrow-bones,

Crotch-deep in the snow, and prayed.― JOHN HAY, Little Breeches, st. 5

2It is not the words of the prayer, but the yearning back of the praying. ELLA WHEELER WILCOX, Art and Heart, st. 5

My words fly up, my thoughts remain below:
Words without thoughts never to heaven go.

SHAKESPEARE, Hamlet, iii, 3