Heads of the People: Or, Portraits of the English, Том 1

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Сторінка 367 - Behold, thou hast driven me out this day from the face of the earth ; and from thy face shall I be hid ; and I shall be a fugitive and a vagabond in the earth; and it shall come to pass, that every one that findeth me shall slay me.
Сторінка 29 - A' made a finer end and went away an it had been any christom child; a' parted even just between twelve and one, even at the turning o' the tide: for after I saw him fumble with the sheets and play with flowers and smile upon his fingers...
Сторінка 338 - Here lies our Sovereign Lord the King, Whose word no man relies on ; Who never said a foolish thing, And never did a wise one.
Сторінка 337 - All things in common nature should produce Without sweat or endeavour : treason, felony, Sword, pike, knife, gun, or need of any engine, Would I not have ; but nature should bring forth, Of its own kind, all foison, all abundance, To feed my innocent people.
Сторінка 369 - And it came to pass in those days, that there went out a decree from Caesar Augustus, that all the world should be taxed.
Сторінка 290 - I never heard the old song of Percy and Douglas that I found not my heart moved more than with a trumpet...
Сторінка 233 - Now the bright morning-star, day's harbinger, Comes dancing from the east, and leads with her The flowery May, who from her green lap throws The yellow cowslip and the pale primrose. Hail, bounteous May, that dost inspire Mirth, and youth, and warm desire ; Woods and groves are of thy dressing, Hill and dale doth boast thy blessing. Thus we salute thee with our early song, And...
Сторінка 205 - Sages, do not think my prayer Bespeaks unseemly forwardness — send me ! The coarsest reed that trembles in the marsh, If Heaven select it for its instrument, May shed celestial music on the breeze, As clearly as the pipe whose virgin gold Befits the lip of Phoebus ; — ye are wise ; And needed by your country ; ye are fathers ! I am a lone stray thing, whose little life By strangers...
Сторінка 81 - The grave Sir Gilbert holds it for a rule That every man in want is knave or fool : " God cannot love" (says Blunt, with tearless eyes) " The wretch he starves" — and piously denies: But the good bishop, with a meeker air, Admits, and leaves them, Providence's care.
Сторінка 282 - I have given suck, and know How tender 'tis to love the babe that milks me: I would, while it was smiling in my face, Have pluck'd my nipple from his boneless gums, And dash'd the brains out, had I so sworn as you Have done to this.

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