Death gives no thanks, but checks authority;
And life doth only majefty commend.
Revenge dies not; rigour begets new wrath :
And blood hath never glory; mercy hath.
-Mercy is the highest reach of wit,
A fafety unto them that fave with it:
Born out of God, and unto human eyes,
Like God, not feen, till fleshly paffion dies.
Lord Brooke's Mustapha.
The greatest attribute of heav'n is mercy;
And 'tis the crown of juftice, and the glory,
Where it may kill with right; to fave with pity.
Beaumont and Fletcher's Lovers Progress.
Great minds erect their never failing trophies,
On the firm base of mercy; but to triumph
O'er a fuppliant, by bafe fortune captiv'd,
Argues a baftard conqueft.
Mainger's Emperor of the Eaft.
Nor takes it from the juftice of a prince,
Where provocation, and not malice makes
Guilty to fave, whom the fharp letter dooms
Sometimes to execution.
If they are gods; pity's a banquet to them:
Whene'er the innocent and virtuous
Doth efcape death, then is their festival.
Nectar ne'er flows more largely, than when blood's
Not fpilt that fhould be fav'd. Do ye think the fmoke
Of human entrails is a fteam that can
Delight the deities? Whoe'er did burn
The building to the honour of th'architect
Or break the tablet in the painter's praife?
'Tis mercy, is the facrifice, they like.
Cartwright's Royal Slave.
O think! think upward on the thrones above:
Difdain not mercy, fince they mercy love;
If mercy were not mingled with their pow'r,
This wretched world could not fubfift an hour.
Sir W. Davenant's Siege of Rhodes. To kill, fhews fear dares not more fears endure; When wrong'd, deftroy not with thy foes, thy fame; The valiant by forgiving, mischief cure ;
And it is heav'n's great conqueft to reclaim.
Sir W. Davenant's Gondibert.
You bring fuch clemency, as fhews you have
More pardons, than your god-like father gave.
Which fhews a greatnefs, that does most encline
To what is greatest in the pow'r divine:
'Tis that to which all human kind does bow,
And tend'reft fenfe of obligation owe.
For wretched man, by ev'ry paflion led,
Born finful, and to many errors bred,
Has ufe of mercy ftill; and does efteem
Creation a lefs work, than to redeem.
Sir W. Davenant on the Reftauration
What others ufe to do with blows,
You, by forgiving, kill your foes:
Your mercy doth your fword reprieve,
And for their faults, you moft do grieve.
Mercy itself but rarely does beftow,
At the fame time, rewards and pardons too.
1. My lord, I will use them according to Their defert.
2. Gods-boddikins, man, much better; `use
Ev'ry man after his defert, and who
Shall 'fcape whipping? Ufe them after your own
Honour and dignity. The lefs they deserve,
The more merit is in your bounty.
Shakespear's Hamlet. Oh, your defert fpeaks loud; and I fhould wrong t, To lock it in the wards of covert bofom ;
When it deferves with characters of brafs
A forted refidence, 'gainst the tooth of time,
And razure of oblivion !
Shakespear's Measure for Measure.
Potential merit ftands for actual,
Where only opportunity doth want
Not will, nor power.
Johnson's Cynthia's Revels.
Ourfelf have ever vowed to esteem
As virtue for itself, so fortune base ;
Who's first in worth, the fame be first in place.
So rare are true defervers lov'd or known; 'I hat men lov'd vulgarly, are ever none.
Chapman's First Part of Byron's Conspiracy. 1. True gold, will any trial stand, untouch'd. 2. For colours that will stain, when they are try'd ; 'I he cloth itself, is ever caft aside.
1. Sometimes, the very glofs in any thing,
Will feem a flain; the fault not in the light,
Not in the guilty object, but our fight:
My glofs, rais'd from the richness of my stuff,
Had too much fplendor for the owly eye
Of politick and thankless royalty:
I did deserve too much: A pleurify
Of that blood in me, is the caufe I die.
Chapman's Second Part of Byron's Confpiracy.
To thofe, all great men, friends most frankly prove,
Whom, for their pleasure, freely they affect;
And leathing bands, cannot be forc'd to love,
As brav'd by worth, when merits urge refpect. Few mark from whence they rofe, when once aloft; None can indure that they should owe their state : Deferts grow odious, when upbraided oft ; And are deprav'd, not guerdon'd when too great. E. of Sterline's Alexandrean Tragedy.
Why fhould your fair eyes with fuch fov'reign grace,
Difperfe their rays on ev'ry vulgar fpirit,
Whilft I in darknefs, in the felf fame place,
Get not one glance to recompence my merit?
So doth the ploughman gaze the wand'ring ftar,
And only refts contented with the light;
That never learn'd what conftellations are,
Beyond the bent of his unknowing fight.
O, why fhould beauty, cuftom, to obey,
To their grofs fenfe, apply herself so ill?
Would God I were as ignorant as they,
When I am made unhappy by my skill;
Only compell'd on this poor good to boat,
Heav'ns are not kind to them, that know them most.
Bought gentry, e'er should true-born worth difgrace!
His life's example was so true
A practick of religion's theory;
That her divinity feem'd rather the
Defcription than th'inftruction of his life:
And of his goodness, was his virtuous fon
A worthy imitator: So that on
These two Herculean pillars, where their arms
Are plac'd, there may be writ, Non ultra: For
Beyond their lives, as well for youth as age,
Nor young nor old, in merit or in name,
Shall e'er exceed their virtues, or their fame.
Tourneur's Atheist's Tragedy.
When no fair afpect fhineth on deferts,
There is a dearth prefag'd on arms and arts.
Seem not too confcious of thy worth; nor be
The firft that knows thy own fufficiency:
If to thy king and country, thy true care
More ferviceable is, than others are
That blaze in court; and ev'ry action fway
As if the kingdom on their shoulders lay :
Or if thou ferv❜st a master, and dost see
Others preferr'd of less defert than thee;
Do not complain, though fuch a plaint be true;
Lords will not give their favours as a due:
But rather ftay and hope. It cannot be
But men at last muft needs thy virtues see:
So fhall thy truft endure, and greater grow;
Whilft they that are above thee, fall below.
Our honours, and our commendations be
Due to the merits; not authority.
Who does to merit truft,
But writes an obligation in the duft.
For human excellence hath this ill fate,
That where it virtue molt does elevate,
It bears the blot of being fingular :
And envy blasts that fame, it cannot share.
Sir W. Davenant to Mr. Benlowes.
His fate is nobler, who deferves, but fails;
Than his who merits not, and yet prevails.
E. of Orrery's Black Prince.
In a bafe commonwealth,
Merit is treafon; a great mafter oppreffes
His little mafters, by out-fhining them.
I'm your oppreffor now, your tyrant now;
Fear of me, tortures you.
On my own treasure of desert I live ;
And all my glory from myself receive.
The fettled mind is free from fortune's pow'r,
They need not fear, who look not up aloft:
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