A Journal of the Plague Year: Or, Memorials of the Great Pestilence in London, in 1665

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Routledge, 1882 - 419 стор.

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Сторінка 18 - Thou shalt not be afraid for the terror by night, nor for the arrow that flieth by day : nor for the pestilence that walketh in darkness, nor for the destruction that wasteth at noon-day.
Сторінка 18 - Surely he shall deliver thee from the snare of the fowler, And from the noisome pestilence. He shall cover thee with his feathers, And under his wings shalt thou trust : His truth shall be thy shield and buckler.
Сторінка 18 - Because thou hast made the Lord, which is my refuge, even the Most High, thy habitation, there shall no evil befall thee, neither shall any plague come nigh thy dwelling.
Сторінка 9 - This day, much against my will, I did - in Drury Lane see two or three houses marked with a red cross upon the doors, and " Lord have mercy upon us!" writ there; which was a sad sight to me, being the first of the kind that, to my remembrance, I ever saw.
Сторінка 33 - God ! and said no more, but repeated those words continually, with a voice and countenance full of horror, a swift pace, and nobody could ever find him to stop, or rest, or take any sustenance, at least that ever I could hear of. I met this poor creature several times in the streets, and would have spoke to him, but he would not enter into speech with me, or any one else ; but kept on his dismal cries continually.
Сторінка 67 - It seems the night before, the dead-cart, as it was called, had been stopt there, and a servant-maid had been brought down to the door dead, and the buriers or bearers, as they were called, put her into the cart, wrapped only in a green rug, and carried her away. The watchman had knocked at the door, it seems, when he heard that noise and crying, as above, and nobody answered a great while, but at last one looked out, and said, with an angry quick tone, and yet a kind of crying voice, or a voice...
Сторінка 144 - God has sent it all, give thanks to him. When the poor woman had taken up all, she was so weak, she could not carry it at once in, though the weight was not much neither ; so she left the biscuit, which was in a little bag, and left a little boy to watch it till she came again. Well, but, says I to him, did you leave her the four shillings too, which you said was your week's pay ? Yes, yes, says he, you shall hear her own it.
Сторінка 136 - Remember not, Lord, our offences, nor the offences of our forefathers ; neither take thou vengeance of our sins : spare us, good Lord, spare thy people, whom thou hast redeemed with thy most precious blood, and be not angry with us for ever.
Сторінка 235 - No prancing horses, no rattling coaches, no calling in customers nor offering wares, no London cries sounding in the ears. If any voice be heard, it is the groans of dying persons breathing forth their last, and the funeral knells of them that are ready to be carried to their graves. Now shutting up of visited houses (there being so many) is at an end, and most of the well are mingled among the sick, which otherwise would have got no help.
Сторінка 144 - Four shillings and a groat, said she. Well, well, says he, the Lord keep you all ; and so he turned to go away. As I could not refrain from contributing tears to this man's story, so neither could I refrain my charity for his assistance ; so I called him, Hark thee, friend...

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