Thinks-I-to Myself: A Serio-ludicro, Tragico-comico Tale

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J.P. Peaslee, 1827 - 234 strán (strany)
 

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Strana 182 - But who the melodies of morn can tell ? — The wild brook babbling down the mountain side ; The lowing herd ; the sheepfold's simple bell ; The pipe of early shepherd dim descried In the lone valley ; echoing far and wide, The clamorous horn along the cliffs above ; The hollow murmur of the ocean-tide ; The hum of bees ; the linnet's lay of love ; And the full choir that wakes the universal grove.
Strana 215 - ... that would value them more by the strict rules of honour and proper worth, than by their relation to herself. Her servants found her prudent, and fit to govern, and yet open-handed and apt to reward ; a just exactor of their duty, and a great rewarder of their diligence.
Strana 82 - In truth he was a strange and wayward wight, Fond of each gentle, and each dreadful scene. In darkness, and in storm, he found delight : Nor less, than when on ocean-wave serene The southern Sun diffused his dazzling...
Strana 12 - FATHER of all ! in every age, In every clime ador'd, By saint, by savage, and by sage, Jehovah, Jove, or Lord...
Strana 158 - He that is surety for a stranger shall smart for it: and he that hateth suretiship is sure. 16 A gracious woman retaineth honour: and strong men retain riches. 17 The merciful man doeth good to his own soul : but he that is cruel troubleth his own flesh.
Strana 231 - Or flush'd with fierce dispute, a senseless brawl. Yet being free I love thee : for the sake Of that one feature can be well content, Disgraced as thou hast been, poor as thou art, To seek no sublunary rest beside.
Strana 9 - and I esteem it a great favour ! — I had no idea you could have walked so far ; I am delighted to see you !" — Thinks- I-to-my self, — she wishes you all at Old Nick ! ! !— Mrs.
Strana 8 - I hope not !' ' Yes, indeed, there are,' says I : — ' one, two, three, four ladies, a little boy, and two pug dogs, I declare !' ' Bless my soul !' says my mother, ' how provoking ! It is certainly Mrs Fidget and her daughters, and that troublesome child, and now I can't finish my letter to your sister before the post goes ! I wish to goodness they would learn to stay at home, and let one have one's time to one's self!
Strana 14 - Blow, winds, and crack your cheeks ! rage ! blow ! You cataracts and hurricanoes, spout Till you have drench'd our steeples, drown'd the cocks ! You sulphurous and thought-executing fires, Vaunt couriers of oak-cleaving thunder-bolts, Singe my white head ! And thou, all-shaking thunder, Strike flat the thick rotundity o' the world ! Crack nature's moulds, all germens spill at once, That make ingrateful man.
Strana 10 - how old is he ?' 'Just turned of four,' says Mrs Fidget. — ' Only four,' says my mother, ' he is a remarkably fine strong boy for that age ! '-•— ' He is indeed a fine child,' says Mrs Fidget, ' but don't, my dear, do that,' says she,

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