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
Upon
Indulgence
Noxious
Ever
Spoil
Marsh
Like
Raising
Lawless
Base
Marshes
Shining
Spoils
Thus
Turbulence
Pride
Vapor
Fulsome
Morning
Shines
Vapors

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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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Heaven often smites in mercy, even when the blow is severest.
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The plainest case in many words entangling.
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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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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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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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A willing heart adds feather to the heel.
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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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Time never bears such moments on his wing as when he flies too swiftly to be marked.
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But dreams full oft are found of real events The form and shadows.
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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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I wish I were with some of the wild people that run in the woods, and know nothing about accomplishments!
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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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A good man's prayers will from the deepest dungeon climb heaven's height, and bring a blessing down.
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Men's actions to futurity appear but as the events to which they are conjoined do give them consequence.
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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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Pride is a fault that great men blush not to own: it is the ennobled offspring of self-love though, it must be confessed, grave and pompous vanity, Iike a fat plebeian in a rove of office, does very often assume its name.
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But woman's grief is like a summer storm, Short as it violent is.
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My day is closed! the gloom of night is come! a hopeless darkness settles over my fate.
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