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Сторінка 375 - But go ye and learn what that meaneth, I will have mercy, and not sacrifice: for I am not come to call the righteous, but sinners to repentance.
Сторінка 391 - tis all one ; And when we can, with metre safe, We'll call him so ; if not, plain Ralph : (For rhyme the rudder is of verses, With which, like ships, they steer their courses) j An equal stock of wit and valour He had laid in, by birth a tailor.
Сторінка 180 - And it came to pass about an eight days after these sayings, he took Peter and John and James, and went up into a mountain to pray.
Сторінка 412 - ... so from its being founded on a new principle: namely, that of counting in each line the accents, not the syllables. Though the latter may vary from seven to twelve, yet in each line the accents will be found to be only four. Nevertheless this occasional variation in number of syllables is not introduced wantonly, or for the mere ends of convenience, but in correspondence with some transition, in the nature of the imagery or passion.
Сторінка 353 - ... the free and ingenuous sort of such as evidently were born to study and love learning for itself, not for lucre, or any other end, but the service of God and of truth, and perhaps that lasting fame and perpetuity of praise, which God and good men have consented shall be the reward of those whose published labours advance the good of mankind...
Сторінка 215 - And he said, I will make all my goodness pass before thee, and I will proclaim the name of the LORD before thee ; and will be gracious to whom I will be gracious, and will shew mercy on whom I will shew mercy.
Сторінка 178 - Upon my soul, sir, I do not; I think it is as honest a looking face as any in the room, dead or alive. But I suppose uncle Oliver goes with the rest of the lumber ? CHAS.
Сторінка 186 - WHANNE that April with his shoures sote The droughte of March hath perced to the rote...
Сторінка 404 - I'll row you o'er the ferry.' By this the storm grew loud apace, The water-wraith was shrieking ; And in the scowl of heaven each face Grew dark as they were speaking. But still, as wilder blew the wind, And as the night grew drearer, Adown the glen rode armed men — Their trampling sounded nearer. 'O haste thee, haste !' the lady cries, 'Though tempests round us gather; I'll meet the raging of the skies, But not an angry father.