Nor can I pass by a particular sort of soul in a particular sort of
description in the New Sophonisba:

Ye mysterious powers,
--Whether thro' your gloomy depths I wander,
Or on the mountains walk, give me the calm,
The steady smiling soul, where wisdom sheds
Eternal sunshine, and eternal joy.
]

_Hunc_. [1]Oh! what is music to the ear that's deaf,
Or a goose-pie to him that has no taste?
What are these praises now to me, since I
Am promised to another?

[Footnote 1: This line Mr Banks has plunder'd entire in his Anna
Bullen.]

_Thumb_. Ha! promised?

_Hunc_. Too sure; 'tis written in the book of fate.

_Thumb_. [1]Then I will tear away the leaf
Wherein it's writ; or, if fate won't allow
So large a gap within its journal-book,
I'll blot it out at least.

[Footnote 1:
Good Heaven! the book of fate before me lay,