Like to the Pontic sea,

Whose icy current and compulsive course

Ne'er feels retiring ebb, but keeps due on

To the Propontic and the Hellespont,

Even so my bloody thoughts, with violent pace,

Shall ne'er look back, ne'er ebb to humble love,

Till that a capable and wide revenge

Swallow them up.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Othello. Act iii. Sc. 3.

He is a fool who thinks by force or skill

To turn the current of a woman's will.

Samuel Tuke (—— -1673): Adventures of Five Hours. Act v. Sc. 3.

How small of all that human hearts endure,

That part which laws or kings can cause or cure!

Still to ourselves in every place consigned,

Our own felicity we make or find.

With secret course, which no loud storms annoy,

Glides the smooth current of domestic joy.

Samuel Johnson (1709-1784): Lines added to Goldsmith's Traveller.

But Knowledge to their eyes her ample page,

Rich with the spoils of time, did ne'er unroll;

Chill penury repress'd their noble rage,

And froze the genial current of the soul.

Thomas Gray (1716-1771): Elegy in a Country Churchyard. Stanza 13.

'T is the heart's current lends the cup its glow,

Whate'er the fountain whence the draught may flow.

Oliver Wendell Holmes (1809-1894): A Sentiment.

We must take the current when it serves,

Or lose our ventures.

William Shakespeare (1564-1616): Julius Caesar. Act iv. Sc. 3.