The Sentimental and Masonic Magazine, Band 1J. Jones., 1792 |
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affured againſt alfo almoft alſo anſwer appeared army beauty becauſe beſt cafe caufe cauſe circumftances Claudine confequence confiderable confifts conftitution defire drefs eſtabliſhed fafe faid fame father fecure feemed feen fenfe fent fentiments feven feveral fhall fhew fhould fide fince firft firſt fituation foldiers fome foon fpirit France French ftate ftill fubject fuch fuffer fufficient fummoned fuppofed fupport fure happineſs herſelf himſelf honour horfes horſes houfe houſe intereft itſelf James Napper Tandy James Quin king Lady laft laſt lefs liberty loft Lord mafter meaſure Mifs minifters moft moſt muft muſt myſelf National Affembly neceffary never obferved occafion paffed paffion Paris perfons pleaſe pleaſure prefent prince promifed purpoſe Quin raiſed reafon refpect reft reprefentatives ſeveral ſhall ſhe ſmall ſpeak ſtate thefe themſelves theſe thofe thoſe thouſand tion underſtanding uſe vifit whofe
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 44 - EXCEPT the LORD build the house, they labour in vain that build it : except the LORD keep the city, the watchman waketh but in vain.
Seite 176 - I voluntarily offered and gave all my money for one. I then came home and went whistling all over the house, much pleased with my whistle, but disturbing all the family. My brothers and sisters and cousins, understanding the bargain I had made, told me I had given four times as much for it as it was worth...
Seite 468 - There at the foot of yonder nodding beech That wreathes its old fantastic roots so high, His listless length at noon-tide would he stretch, And pore upon the brook that babbles by.
Seite 468 - Nor Grandeur hear with a disdainful smile The short and simple annals of the Poor. The boast of heraldry, the pomp of power, And all that beauty, all that wealth e'er gave Await alike th' inevitable hour : — The paths of glory lead but to the grave.
Seite 81 - Dear as the ruddy drops that warm my heart, Ye died amidst your dying country's cries — No more I weep : they do not sleep ! On yonder cliffs, a grisly band, I see them sit; they linger yet Avengers of their native land : With me in dreadful harmony they join, And weave with bloody hands the tissue of thy line.
Seite 82 - Raised by thy breath, has quench'd the orb of day? To-morrow he repairs the golden flood And warms the nations with redoubled ray. Enough for me : with joy I see The different doom our fates assign: Be thine Despair and sceptred Care, To triumph and to die are mine.
Seite 81 - The characters of hell to* trace. Mark the year, and mark the night, When Severn shall re-echo with affright The shrieks of death, thro' Berkley's roofs that ring, Shrieks of an agonizing King ! She-Wolf of France, with unrelenting fangs, That tear'st the bowels of thy mangled Mate, From thee be born, who o'er thy country hangs The scourge of Heav'n.
Seite 114 - Eas'd of her load, subjection grows more light, And poverty looks cheerful in thy sight: Thou mak'st the gloomy face of nature gay, Giv'st beauty to the sun, and pleasure to the day.
Seite 82 - Thy son is gone. He rests among the dead. The swarm, that in thy noontide beam were born? Gone to salute the rising morn.
Seite 198 - And you have an army in Ireland that you may employ to reduce this kingdom to obedience ; for I am confident the Scots cannot hold out five months.