Mores Catholici: Or, Ages of Faith ...

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Seite 485 - For taking bribes here of the Sardians ; Wherein, my letters, praying on his side, Because I knew the man, were slighted off. Bru. You wrong'd yourself, to write in such a case. Cas. In such a time as this, it is not meet That every nice offence should bear his comment.
Seite 9 - No might nor greatne'ss in mortality Can censure 'scape ; back-wounding calumny The whitest virtue strikes : What king so strong, Can tie the gall up in the slanderous tongue ? But who comes here ? Enter ESCALUS, Provost, Bawd, and Officers.
Seite 481 - Et homo, cum in honore esset, non intellexit : comparatus est jumentis insipientibus, et similis factus est illis.
Seite 398 - From the sole of the foot to the crown of the head there is' no soundness in it, but wounds, and bruises and putrefying sores.
Seite 299 - And enter not into judgment with thy servant: for in thy sight shall no man living be justified.
Seite 504 - I'll look up; My fault is past. But, O! what form of prayer Can serve my turn? "Forgive me my foul murder"?
Seite 533 - ... filling each estate of life and profession with abject and servile principles, depressing the high and heaven-born spirit of man, far beneath the condition wherein either God created him, or sin hath sunk him. To pursue the allegory, custom being but a mere face, as echo is a mere voice, rests not in her unaccomplishment, until, by secret inclination, she accorporate herself with error, who, being a blind and serpentine body without a head, willingly accepts what he wants, and supplies what her...
Seite 233 - I AM sometimes very much troubled when I reflect upon the three great professions of divinity, law, and physic; how they are each of them overburdened with practitioners, and filled with multitudes of ingenious gentlemen that starve one another.
Seite 179 - O, how this spring of love resembleth The uncertain glory of an April day ; Which now shows all the beauty of the sun, And by and by a cloud takes all away ! Re-enter PANTHINO.
Seite 423 - Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased ; Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow ; Raze out the written troubles of the brain ; And, with some sweet, oblivious antidote, Cleanse the stuffed bosom of that perilous stuff, Which weighs upon the heart ? Doct.

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