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Treason: Quotations from Cyclopedia of Practical Quotations

I spake of most disastr'us chances, Of being taken by the insolent foe And sold to slavery, of my redemption thence And portance in my travels' history: Wherein of antres vast and deserts idle, Rough quarries, rocks and hills whose heads touch heaven, It was my hint to speak-such was the process; And of the cannibals that each other eat.— Shakespeare — Othello. Act I. Sc. 3. L. 134.

*** the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness.— Shakespeare — As You Like It. Act IV. Sc. 1. L. 17.

Travell'd gallants, That fill the court with quarrels, talk, and tailors.— Shakespeare — Henry VIII. Act I. Sc. 3. L. 19.

When I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.— Shakespeare — As You Like It. Act II. Sc. 4. L. 17.

I pity the man who can travel from Dan to Beersheba and cry, "'Tis all barren!"— STERNE — Sentimental Journey. In the

Street. Calais. I always love to begin a journey on Sundays, because I shall have the prayers of the church to preserve all that travel by land or by water.— SWIFT — Polite Conversation.

Dialogue II. 'Tis a mad world (my masters) and in sadnes I travail'd madly in these dayes of madnes.— JOHN TAYLOR — Wandering to see the

Wonders of the West. We are two travellers, Roger and I. Roger's my dog.— J. T. TROWBRIDGE — The Vagabonds.

Is there not some chosen curse, Some hidden thunder in the stores of heaven, Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man Who owes his greatness to his country's ruin?— ADDISON — Cato. Act I. Sc. 1.

This principle is old, but true as fate, Kings may love treason, but the traitor hate. S.— THOMAS DEKKER — The Honest Whore. Pt. I. Act IV. Sc. 4

Treason is not own'd when 'tis descried; Successful crimes alone are justified.— DRYDEN — Medals. L. 207.

O that a soldier so glorious, ever victorious in fight, Passed from a daylight of honor into the terrible night; Fell as the mighty archangel, ere the earth glowed in space, fell- Fell from the patriot's heaven down to the loyalist's hell!— THOS. DUNN ENGLISH — Arnold at

Stillwater. With evil omens from the harbour sails The ill-fated ship that worthless Arnold bears; God of the southern winds, call up thy gales, And whistle in rude fury round his ears.— PHILIP FRENEAU — Arnold's Departure.

Rebellion must be managed with many swords; treason to his prince's person may be with one knife.— FULLER — The Holy and Profane States.

The Traitor. Treason doth never prosper: what's the reason? Why if it prosper, none dare call it treason.— SIR JOHN HARRINGTON — Epigrams. Bk. IV. Ep. V.

The man who pauses on the paths of treason, Halts on a quicksand, the first step engulfs him.— AARON HILL — Henry V. Act I. Sc. 1.

For while the treason I detest, The traitor still I love.— HOOLE — Metastatio. Romulus and Hersilia. Act I. Sc. 5.

The traitor to Humanity is the traitor most accursed; Man is more than Constitutions; better rot beneath the sod, Than be true to Church and State while we are doubly false to God.— LOWELL — On the Capture of Certain

Fugitive Slaves near Washington. Hast thou betrayed my credulous innocence With vizor'd falsehood and base forgery?— MILTON — Comus. L. 697.

Oh, colder than the wind that freezes Founts, that but now in sunshine play'd, Is that congealing pang which seizes The trusting bosom, when betray'd.— MOORE — Lalla Rookh. The Fire

Worshippers. Oh, for a tongue to curse the slave Whose treason, like a deadly blight, Comes o'er the councils of the brave, And blasts them in their hour of might!— MOORE — Lalla Rookh. The

Fire-Worshippers. He [Cæsar] loved the treason, but hated the traitor.— PLUTARCH — Life of Romulus.

Et tu Brute! Then fall, Cæsar! Julius Cæsar. Act III. Sc. I. L. 77. I am sorry I must never trust thee more, But count the world a stranger for thy sake: The private wound is deepest.— Shakespeare — Two Gentlemen of Verona. Act V. Sc. 4. L. 69.

I did pluck allegiance from men's hearts, Loud shouts and salutations from their mouths, Even in the presence of the crowned king.— Shakespeare — Henry IV. Pt. I. Act III. Sc. 2. L. 52.

Know, my name is lost; By treason's tooth bare-gnawn and cankerbit.— Shakespeare — King Lear. Act V. Sc. 3. L. 121.

Smooth runs the water where the brook is deep; And in his simple show he harbours treason.— Shakespeare — Henry VI. Pt. II. Act III. Sc. 1. L. 53.

Some guard these traitors to the block of death; Treason's true bed and yielder up of breath.— Shakespeare — Henry IV. Pt. II. Act IV. Sc. 2. L. 122.

Tellest thou me of "ifs"? Thou art a traitor : Off with his head!— Shakespeare — Richard III. Act III. Sc. 4. L. 77

The man was noble, But with his last attempt he wiped it out: Destroy'd his country, and his name remains To the ensuing age abhorr'd.— Shakespeare — Coriolanus. Act V. Sc. 3. L. 145.

Though those that are betray'd Do feel the treason sharply, yet the traitor Stands in worse case of woe.— Shakespeare — Cymbeline. Act III. Sc. 4. L. 87.

To say the truth, so Judas kiss'd his master, And cried "all hail!" whereas he meant all harm.— Shakespeare — Henry VI. Pt. III. Act V. Sc. 7.

и. L. 33. Treason and murder ever kept together, As two yoke-devils sworn to either's purpose, Working so grossly in a natural cause, That admiration did not hoop at them.— Shakespeare — Henry V. Act II. Sc. 2. L. 105.

Treason is but trusted like the fox Who, ne'er so tame, so cherish'd and locked up, Will have a wild trick of his ancestors.— Shakespeare — Henry IV. Pt. I. Act V. Sc. 2. L. 9.

The place is all awave with trees, Limes, myrtles, purple-beaded, Acacias having drunk the lees Of the night-dew, faint headed, And wan, grey olive-woods, which seem The fittest foliage for a dream.— E. B. BROWNING — An Island.

Stranger, if thou hast learned a truth which needs No school of long experience, that the world Is full of guilt and misery, and hast seen Enough of all its sorrows, crimes and cares, To tire thee of it, enter this wild wood And view the haunts of Nature. The calm shade Shall bring a kindred calm, and the sweet breeze That makes the green leaves dance, shall waft a balm To thy sick heart.— BRYANT — Inscription for the Entrance to

a Wood. The groves were God's first temples. Ere man learned To hew the shaft, and lay the architrave, And spread the roof above them, -ere he framed The lofty vault, to gather and roll back The sound of anthems; in the darkling wood, Amidst the cool and silence, he knelt down And offered to the Mightiest solemn thanks And supplication. C. BRYANT A Forest Hymn. The shad-bush, white with flowers, Brightened the glens; the new leaved butternut And quivering poplar to the roving breeze Gave a balsamic fragrance.— BRYANT — The Old Man's Counsel. L. 28.

No tree in all the grove but has its charms, Though each its hue peculiar.— COWPER — The Task. Bk. I. L. 307.

Where is the pride of Summer,-the green prime,- The many, many leaves all twinkling?-three On the mossed elm; three on the naked lime Trembling, and one upon the old oak tree! Where is the Dryad's immortality?— HOOD — Ode. Autumn.

Part I.-Unclassified Arbora. It was the noise Of ancient trees falling while all was still Before the storm, in the long interval Between the gathering clouds and that light breeze Which Germans call the Wind's bride.— LELAND — The Fall of the Trees.

This is the forest primeval.— LONGFELLOW — Evangeline.

Introduction. Oh! proudly then the forest kings Their banners lift o'er vale and mount; And cool and fresh the wild grass springs, By lonely path, by sylvan fount; There, o'er the fair leaf-laden rill, The laurel sheds her cluster'd bloom, And throned upon the rock-wreathed hill The rowan waves his scarlet plume.— EDITH MAY — A Forest Scene.

And all amid them stood the Tree of Life, High eminent, blooming ambrosial fruit Of vegetable gold.— MILTON — Paradise Lost. Bk. IV. L. 218.

Cedar, and pine, and fir, and branching palm, A sylvan scene, and as the ranks ascend Shade above shade, a woody theatre Of stateliest view.— MILTON — Paradise Lost. Bk. IV. L. 139.

Woodman, spare that tree! Touch not a single bough! In youth it sheltered me, And I'll protect it now.— GEORGE P. MORRIS — Woodman, Spare

That Tree. When the sappy boughs Attire themselves with blooms, sweet rudiments Of future harvest.— JOHN PHILLIPS — Cider. Bk. II. L. 437.

Grove nods at grove.— POPE — Moral Essays. Ep. IV. L. 117.

The highest and most lofty trees have the most reason to dread the thunder.— ROLLIN — Ancient History. Bk. VI. Ch. II. Sec. I.

So bright in death I used to say, So beautiful through frost and cold ! A lovelier thing I know to-day, The leaf is growing old, And wears in grace of duty done, The gold and scarlet of the sun.— MARGARET E. SANGSTER — A Maple

A barren detested vale, you see it is; The trees, though summer, yet forlorn and lean, O'ercome with moss and baleful mistletoe.— Shakespeare — Titus Andronicus. Act II. Sc. 3. L.93.

But, poor old man, thou prunest a rotten tree, That cannot so much as a blossom yield In lieu of all thy pains and husbandry. As You Like It.— Shakespeare — As You Like It. Act II. Sc. 3. L. 63.

Hath not old custom made this life more made this life more sweet Than that of painted pomp? Are not these woods More free from peril than the envious court?— Shakespeare — As You Like It. Act II. Sc. 1. L. 2.

Under the greenwood tree Who loves to lie with me, And tune his merry note Unto the sweet bird's throat, Come hither, come hither, come hither: No enemy here shall he see, But winter and rough weather.— Shakespeare — As You Like It. Act II. Sc. 5. L. 1.

Who am no more but as the tops of trees, Which fence the roots they grow by and defend them.— Shakespeare — Pericles. Act I. Sc. 2. L. 29.

Now all the tree-tops lay asleep, Like green waves on the sea, As still as in the silent deep The ocean-woods may be.— SHELLEY — The Recollection. II.

The trees were gazing up into the sky, Their bare arms stretched in prayer for the snows.— ALEX. SMITH — A Life-Drama. Sc. 2.

The laurell, meed of mightie conquerours And poets sage; the firre that weepeth still; The willow, worne of forlorne paramours; The eugh, obedient to the bender's will; The birch, for shafts; the sallow for the mill; The mirrhe sweete-bleeding in the bitter wound; The warlike beech; the ash for nothing ill; The fruitfull olive; and the platane round; The carver holme; the maple seldom inward sound.— SPENSER — Faerie Queene. Bk. I. Canto I. St. 8.

The woods appear With crimson blotches deeply dashed and crossed,- Sign of the fatal pestilence of Frost.— BAYARD TAYLOR — Mon-Da-Min. St.38.

Now rings the woodland loud and long, The distance takes a lovelier hue, And drowned in yonder living blue The lark becomes a sightless song.— TENNYSON — In Memoriam. Pt. CXV.

O Love, what hours were thine and mine, In lands of palm and southern pine; In lands of palm, of orange-blossom, Of olive, aloe, and maize, and vine.— TENNYSON — The Daisy. St. 1.

The linden broke her ranks and rent The woodbine wreaths that bind her, And down the middle buzz! che went With all her bees behind her! The poplars, in long order due, With cypress promenaded, The shock-head willows two and two By rivers gallopaded.— TENNYSON — Amphion. St. 5.

The woods are hush'd, their music is no more; The leaf is dead, the yearning past away; New leaf, new life-the days of frost are o'er; New life, new love, to suit the newer day: New loves are sweet as those that went before: Free love-free field-we love but while we may.— TENNYSON — Idylls of the King. The Last Tournament. L. 276.

But see the fading many-coloured Woods, Shade deep'ning over shade, the country round Imbrown; crowded umbrage, dusk and dun, Of every hue from wan declining green To sooty dark.— THOMSON — Seasons. Autumn. L. 950.

Some to the holly hedge Nestling repair; and to the thicket some; Some to the rude protection of the thorn.— THOMSON — Seasons. Spring. L. 634.

Welcome, ye shades! ye bowery Thickets hail! Ye lofty Pines! ye venerable Oaks! Ye Ashes wild, resounding o'er the steep! Delicious is your shelter to the soul.— THOMSON — Seasons. Summer. L. 469.

Sure thou did'st flourish once! and many springs, Many bright mornings, much dew, many showers, Passed o'er thy head; many light hearts and wings, Which now are dead, lodg'd in thy living bowers. And still a new succession sings and flies; Fresh groves grow up, and their green branches shoot Towards the old and still-enduring skies; While the low violet thrives at their root.— VAUGHAN — The Timber.

A brotherhood of venerable Trees.— WORDSWORTH — Sonnet composed at

Castle- Part II.-Classified Arbora. Acacia. Acacia. A great acacia, with its slender trunk And overpoise of multitudinous leaves, (In which a hundred fields might spill their dew And intense verdure, yet find room enough) Stood reconciling all the place with green.— E. B. BROWNING — Aurora Leigh.

Nemo unquam sapiens proditori credendum putavit. No wise man ever thought that a traitor should be trusted.— CICERO — Orationes In Verrem. II. 1.

15. Ipsa se fraus, etiamsi initio cautior fuerit, detegit. Treachery, though at first very cautious, in the end betrays itself.— LIVY — Annales. XLIV. 15.