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Сторінка 226 - Who gave the ball, or paid the visit last; One speaks the glory of the British queen, And one describes a charming Indian screen; A third interprets motions, looks, and eyes; At every word a reputation dies. Snuff, or the fan, supply each pause of chat, With singing, laughing, ogling, and all that.
Сторінка 147 - Love's not Time's fool, though rosy lips and cheeks Within his bending sickle's compass come; Love alters not with his brief hours and weeks, But bears it out even to the edge of doom. If this be error and upon me proved, I never writ, nor no man ever loved.
Сторінка 64 - FORASMUCH as it hath pleased Almighty God of his great mercy to take unto himself the soul of our dear brother here departed, we therefore commit his body to the ground, earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust, in sure and certain hope of the resurrection to eternal life...
Сторінка 64 - ... we therefore commit his body to the ground ; earth to earth, ashes to ashes, dust to dust; in sure and certain hope of the Resurrection to eternal life, through our Lord Jesus Christ; who shall change our vile body, that it may be like unto his glorious body, according to the mighty working, whereby he is able to subdue all things to himself.
Сторінка 238 - Form'da whole which, irregular in parts, Yet left a grand impression on the mind, At least of those whose eyes are in their hearts. We gaze upon a giant, for his stature ; Nor judge, at first, if all be true to nature.
Сторінка 69 - Oh! sweetly we'll rest our weary oar. Blow, breezes, blow, the stream runs fast, The Rapids are near and the daylight's past.
Сторінка 112 - The loud wind roar'd, the rain fell fast ; The white man yielded to the blast ; He sat him down beneath our tree, For weary, sad, and faint was he ; And ah ! no wife or mother's care For him the milk or corn prepare.
Сторінка 193 - When lovely woman stoops to folly, And finds too late that men betray ; What charm can soothe her melancholy, What art can wash her guilt away ? The only art her guilt to cover, To hide her shame from every eye, To give repentance to her lover, And wring his bosom — is to die.
Сторінка 173 - As thistles wear the softest down, To hide their prickles till they're grown ; And then declare themselves and tear Whatever ventures to come near : So a smooth knave does greater feats Than one, that idly rails and threats, And all the mischief, that he meant, Does like a rattle-snake prevent.
Сторінка 238 - The mansion's self was vast and venerable, With more of the monastic than has been Elsewhere preserved : the cloisters still were stable, The cells, too, and refectory, I ween : An exquisite small chapel had been able, Still unimpair'd, to decorate the scene ; The rest had been reformed, replaced, or sunk, And spoke more of the baron than the monk.