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John Bartlett (1820–1905). Familiar Quotations, 10th ed. 1919.

Page 219

Sir Thomas Browne. (1605–1682) (continued)
    Times before you, when even living men were antiquities,—when the living might exceed the dead, and to depart this world could not be properly said to go unto the greater number. 1
          Dedication to Urn-Burial.
    I look upon you as gem of the old rock. 2
          Dedication to Urn-Burial.
    Man is a noble animal, splendid in ashes and pompous in the grave.
          Dedication to Urn-Burial. Chap. v.
    Quietly rested under the drums and tramplings of three conquests.
          Dedication to Urn-Burial. Chap. v.
    Herostratus lives that burnt the temple of Diana; he is almost lost that built it. 3
          Dedication to Urn-Burial. Chap. v.
    What song the Sirens sang, or what name Achilles assumed when he hid himself among women.
          Dedication to Urn-Burial. Chap. v.
    When we desire to confine our words, we commonly say they are spoken under the rose.
          Vulgar Errors.
Edmund Waller. (1606–1687)
    The yielding marble of her snowy breast.
          On a Lady passing through a Crowd of People.
    That eagle’s fate and mine are one,
  Which on the shaft that made him die
Espied a feather of his own,
  Wherewith he wont to soar so high. 4
          To a Lady singing a Song of his Composing.
Note 1.
’T is long since Death had the majority.—Robert Blair: The Grave, part ii. line 449. [back]
Note 2.
Adamas de rupe præstantissimus (A most excellent diamond from the rock).

A chip of the old block.—Matthew Prior: Life of Burke. [back]
Note 3.
The aspiring youth that fired the Ephesian dome
Outlives in fame the pious fool that raised it.
Colley Cibber: Richard III, act iii. sc. 1. [back]
Note 4.
So in the Libyan fable it is told
That once an eagle, stricken with a dart,
Said, when he saw the fashion of the shaft,
“With our own feathers, not by others’ hands,
Are we now smitten.”
Æschylus: Fragm. 123 (Plumptre’s Translation).

So the struck eagle, stretch’d upon the plain,
No more through rolling clouds to soar again,
View’d his own feather on the fatal dart,
And wing’d the shaft that quiver’d in his heart.
Lord Byron: English Bards and Scotch Reviewers, line 826.

Like a young eagle, who has lent his plume
To fledge the shaft by which he meets his doom,
See their own feathers pluck’d to wing the dart
Which rank corruption destines for their heart.
Thomas Moore: Corruption. [back]