Quote

Tis ever thus: indulgence spoils the base Raising up pride, and lawless turbulence, Like noxious vapors from the fulsome marsh When morning shines upon it.

Joanna Baillie

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Joanna Baillie
Age: 88 †
Born: 1762
Born: September 11
Died: 1851
Died: February 23
Playwright
Poet
Tragedy Writer
Writer
Joanna Baillie
Thus
Turbulence
Pride
Vapor
Fulsome
Morning
Shines
Vapors
Upon
Indulgence
Noxious
Ever
Spoil
Marsh
Like
Raising
Lawless
Base
Marshes
Shining
Spoils

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O lovely Sisters! is it true That they are all inspired by you, And write by inward magic charm'd, And high enthusiasm warm'd?
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I have seen the day, when, if a man made himself ridiculous, the world would laugh at him. But now, everything that is mean, disgusting, and absurd, pleases them but so much the better!
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Ah! happy is the man whose early lot Hath made him master of a furnish'd cot Who trains the vine that round his window grows, And after setting sun his garden hoes Whose wattled pails his own enclosure shield, Who toils not daily in another's field.
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Busy work brings after ease Ease brings sport and sport brings rest For young and old, of all degrees, The mingled lot is best.
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Stand there, damn'd meddling villain, and be silent For if thou utt'rest but a single word, A cough or hem, to cross me in my speech, I'll send thy cursed spirit from the earth, To bellow with the damn'd!
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Still on it creeps, Each little moment at another's heels, Till hours, days, years, and ages are made up Of such small parts as these, and men look back Worn and bewilder'd, wondering how it is.
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Think'st thou there are no serpents in the world But those who slide along the grassy sod, And sting the luckless foot that presses them? There are who in the path of social life Do bask their spotted skins in Fortune's sun, And sting the soul.
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I am as one Who doth attempt some lofty mountain's height, And having gained what to the upcast eye The summit's point appear'd, astonished sees Its cloudy top, majestic and enlarged, Towering aloft, as distant as before.
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The inward sighs of humble penitence Rise to the ear of Heaven, when peal'd hymns Are scatter'd with the sounds of common air.
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It is so seldom that a young fellow has any inclination for the company of an old man. . .
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Heaven often smites in mercy, even when the blow is severest.
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Half-uttered praise is to the curious mind, as to the eye half-veiled beauty is, more precious than the whole.
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A good man's prayers will from the deepest dungeon climb heaven's height, and bring a blessing down.
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But woman's grief is like a summer storm, Short as it violent is.
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She who only finds her self-esteem In others' admiration, begs an alms Depends on others for her daily food, And is the very servant of her slaves Tho' oftentimes, in a fantastic hour, O'er men she may a childish pow'r exert, Which not ennobles but degrades her state.
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Good-morrow to thy sable beak, And glossy plumage, dark and sleek, Thy crimson moon and azure eye
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There is a sight all hearts beguiling-- A youthful mother to her infant smiling, Who with spread arms and dancing feet, A cooing voice, returns its answer sweet.
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A woman is seldom roused to great and courageous exertion but when something most dear to her is in immediate danger.
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The plainest case in many words entangling.
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