Fielding; Or, Society: Atticus; Or, The Retired Statesman: and St. Lawrence, Band 2

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Seite 178 - Holds such an enmity with blood of man, That, swift as quicksilver, it courses through The natural gates and alleys of the body ; And, with a sudden vigour, it doth posset And curd, like eager droppings into milk, The thin and wholesome blood...
Seite 69 - I am myself indifferent honest; but yet I could accuse me of such things, that it were better, my mother had not borne me: I am very proud, revengeful, ambitious; with more offences at my beck, than I have thoughts to put them in, imagination to give them shape, or time to act them in: What should such fellows as I do crawling between earth and heaven? We are arrant knaves, all; believe none of us: Go thy ways to a nunnery.
Seite 84 - The school's lone porch, with reverend mosses gray, Just tells the pensive pilgrim where it lay. Mute is the bell that rung at peep of dawn, Quickening my truant feet across the lawn ; Unheard the shout that rent the noontide air When the slow dial gave a pause to care.
Seite 37 - I'll give my jewels for a set of beads, My gorgeous palace for a hermitage, My gay apparel for an alms-man's gown, My...
Seite 79 - E'en the last lingering fiction of the brain, The church-yard ghost, is now at rest again; And all these wayward wanderings of my youth Fly Reason's power and shun the light of truth.
Seite 103 - Whose midnight revels by a forest side Or fountain some belated peasant sees, Or dreams he sees, while overhead the moon Sits arbitress, and nearer to the earth Wheels her pale course ; they, on their mirth and dance Intent, with jocund music charm his ear; At once with joy and fear his heart rebounds.
Seite 131 - Peace to his soul, if God's good pleasure be ! — Lord cardinal, if thou think'st on heaven's bliss, Hold up thy hand, make signal of thy hope. — He dies, and makes no sign : O God, forgive him ! War.
Seite 48 - By sighs, and tears, and grief alone: I greet her as the fiend, to whom belong The vulture's ravening beak, the raven's funeral song.
Seite 122 - twould a saint provoke," (Were the last words that poor Narcissa spoke ;} " No, let a charming chintz and Brussels lace Wrap my cold limbs, and shade my lifeless face : One would not, sure, be frightful when one's dead — And — Betty — give this cheek a little red.
Seite 74 - Against her foes Religion well defends Her sacred truths, but often fears her friends ; If learn'd, their pride, if weak, their zeal she dreads, And their hearts...

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