His helmet now shall make a hive for bees,
  And lover’s sonnets turned to holy psalms;
  A man at arms must now serve on his knees,
  And feed on prayers, which are his age’s alms.
Polyhymnia.  G. PEELE.

Ne’er to meet, or ne’er to part, is peace. Night Thoughts, Night V.  DR. E. YOUNG.

    Till each man finds his own in all men’s good,
    And all men work in noble brotherhood,
    Breaking their mailed fleets and armed towers,
    And ruling by obeying Nature’s powers,
  And gathering all the fruits of peace and crowned with all her flowers.
Ode, sung at the Opening of the International Exhibition.  A. TENNYSON.

PEN.

Beneath the rule of men entirely great
The pen is mightier than the sword.
Richelieu, Act ii.  Sc 3.  E. BULWER-LYTTON.

                      The feather, whence the pen
  Was shaped that traced the lives of these good men,
  Dropped from an Angel’s wing.
Ecclesiastical Sonnets, Pt.  III., v.  Walton’s Book of Lives.  W. WORDSWORTH.

Whose noble praise
Deserves a quill pluckt from an angel’s wing.
Sonnet.  DOROTHY BERRY.

You still shall live—­such virtue hath my pen,
Where breath most breathes, even in the mouths of men.
Sonnet, LXXXI.  SHAKESPEARE.

  Oh! nature’s noblest gift—­my gray-goose quill! 
  Slave of my thoughts, obedient to my will,
  Torn from thy parent-bird to form a pen,
  That mighty instrument of little men!
English Bards and Scotch Reviewers.  LORD BYRON.

PEOPLE, THE.

Who o’er the herd would wish to reign,
Fantastic, fickle, fierce, and vain—­
Vain as the leaf upon the stream,
And fickle as a changeful dream;
Fantastic as a woman’s mood,
And fierce as Frenzy’s fevered blood. 
Thou many-headed monster thing,
O, who would wish to be thy king!
Lady of the Lake, Canto V.  SIR W. SCOTT.

I have bought
Golden opinions from all sorts of people.
Macbeth, Act i.  Sc. 7.  SHAKESPEARE.

He that depends
Upon your favors swims with fins of lead,
And hews down oaks with rushes.  Hang ye!  Trust ye? 
With every minute you do change a mind;
And call him noble that was now your hate,
Him vile that was your garland.
Coriolanus, Act i.  Sc. 1.  SHAKESPEARE.

The scum
That rises upmost when the nation boils.
Don Sebastian.  J. DRYDEN.

                             Rumor is a pipe
  Blown by surmises, jealousies, conjectures,
  And of so easy and so plain a stop
  That the blunt monster with uncounted heads,
  The still-discordant wavering multitude,
  Can play upon it.
King Henry IV., Pt.  II.  Act i.  Induction.  SHAKESPEARE.

The people’s voice is odd,
It is, and it is not, the voice of God.
To Augustus.  A. POPE.