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Shakspere! poet great, unique! Thou feaster and instructer of the mind! Immortal poet! Thine equal has ne'er been! 'Tis enough for a thousand years

To produce thy compeer! Like an evergreen, The emanations of thy genius ever please, Inform, profit, amaze, and fascinate,

As if they were new-born! And they will live On, on, through generations yet to come,

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Throughout all time-till "the great globe itself,
And all that it inherit, shall dissolve,

And, like the baseless fabric of a vision,
Leave not a wreck behind."

PART II.

DRAMATIC READINGS.

PART II.

DRAMATIC READINGS.

THE USES OF ADVERSITY.

FROM AS YOU LIKE IT.'

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 seasons' 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 his head;
And this our life, exempt from public haunt,
Finds tongues in trees, books in the running brooks,
Sermons in stones, and good in every thing.

The above address exhibits vigorous thought, and remarkable expression. It is highly characteristic of Shakspere, and is the commencement of a number of unrivalled quotations. It may be remarked that our poet teaches the same lesson elsewhere. Briefly, but not inelegantly, he says,

"In struggling with misfortune lies the proof of virtue."

We pity those who find no beauty in such extracts, and hope that the time will come when taste and education will become more refined, and produce a delicacy of feeling, which now is only experienced by the minority.

ADVERSITY THE TRIAL OF MAN.

6

FROM TROILUS AND CRESSIDA.'

Why then, you princes,

Do you with cheeks abash'd behold our works, And think them shames? which are, indeed, nought else

But the protractive trials of great Jove

To find persistive constancy in men:

The fineness of which metal is not found

In fortune's love; for then the bold and coward,

The wise and fool, the artist and unread,

The hard and soft, seem all affined and kin:

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