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Palace and Hovel: Or, Phases of London Life. Being Personal Observations of ...
Daniel Joseph Kirwan
Перегляд фрагмента - 1870
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Сторінка 362 - Blest with victory and peace, may the heaven-rescued land Praise the Power that hath made and preserved us a nation. Then conquer we must, when our cause it is just ; And this be our motto :
Сторінка 118 - THREE Poets, in three distant ages born, Greece, Italy, and England did adorn. The first in loftiness of thought surpassed; The next in majesty •, In both the last. The force of Nature could no further go ; To make a third, she joined the former two.
Сторінка 512 - A sight so touching in its majesty: This city now doth like a garment wear The beauty of the morning; — silent, bare. Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air. Never did sun more beautifully steep In his first splendor, valley, rock, or hill; Ne'er saw I, never felt, a calm so deep!
Сторінка 512 - EARTH has not anything to show more fair: Dull would he be of soul who could pass by A sight so touching in its majesty: This City now doth, like a garment, wear The beauty of the morning; silent, bare, Ships, towers, domes, theatres, and temples lie Open unto the fields, and to the sky; All bright and glittering in the smokeless air.
Сторінка 120 - Here's an acre sown indeed With the richest, royallest seed That the earth did e'er suck in Since the first man died for sin: Here the bones of birth have cried 'Though gods they were, as men they died!
Сторінка 344 - Water-American, as they called me, was stronger than themselves, who drank strong beer! We had an ale-house boy, who attended always in the house to supply the workmen. My companion at the press drank every day a pint before breakfast, a pint at breakfast with his bread and cheese, a pint between breakfast and dinner, a pint at dinner, a pint in the afternoon about six o'clock, and another when he had done his day's work.
Сторінка 526 - By yea and nay, sir, I dare say my cousin William is become a good scholar. He is at Oxford still, is he not ? Sil. Indeed, sir, to my cost. Shal. A' must then to the inns o
Сторінка 118 - What needs my Shakespeare for his honoured bones, The labour of an age in piled stones ? Or that his hallowed relics should be hid Under a star-ypointing pyramid ? Dear son of memory, great heir of fame, What need'st thou such weak witness of thy name ? Thou in our wonder and astonishment Hast built thyself a livelong monument.