An apology for the life of George Anne Bellamy, written by herself [ed. by A. Bicknell]. To which is added her original letter to John Calcraft, Том 4 |
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acquainted advertiſement affiftance affured againſt Alderman anſwered appearance befides beſt buſineſs Calcraft caufe cauſe chaife circumftance Colman conclufion confented confequence confiderable Cracroft creditor debt defired Digges diſcharge engagement expence faid falutation fame favour feemed fent fervant ferve fettled feven fhall fhew fhort fhould figned fince firft firſt fituation fome foon friendſhip ftill fubject fuccefs fuch fuffer fummer fuppofed fure gentleman GEORGE ANNE BELLAMY greateſt herſelf himſelf honour houfe houſe hundred pounds informed JOHN CALCRAFT juft lady laft leaſt letter likewife lofs Lord Lord Granby lordſhip Metham Mifs Wordley moft moſt muſt myſelf neceffary never notwithſtanding obferving obliged occafion paffed perfon performer play pleafed pleaſed pleaſure poffeffed poffible prevented promiſe racter reafon received refidence refpect requeſted Scotland ſhe Sir George ſome ſtage ſuch theatre thefe themſelves theſe thofe thoſe told ufual uſe vifit whilft whofe whoſe Woodward
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Стр. 3 - tis slander; Whose edge is sharper than the sword ; whose tongue Outvenoms all the worms of Nile; whose breath Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie All corners of the world : kings, queens, and states, Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave This viperous slander enters.
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Стр. 127 - In me to lofe. Dia. Mine honour's fuch a ring; My chaftity's the jewel of our houfe, Bequeathed down from many anceftors ; Which were the greateft obloquy i'th
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Стр. 18 - That, in ° a fpleen, unfolds both heaven and earth, And ere a man hath power to fay, — Behold ! The jaws of darknefs do devour it up : So quick bright things come to...
Стр. 150 - Tis thou, thrice sweet and gracious goddess, addressing myself to LIBERTY, whom all in public or in private worship, whose taste is grateful, and ever will be so, till NATURE herself shall change no tint of words can spot thy snowy mantle...
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Стр. 50 - The rofe, tho' a beautiful red, Looks faded to PHILLIS'S bloom; And the breeze from the bean-flower bed To her breath's but a feeble perfume : The dew-drop fo limpid and gay, That loofe on the violet lies, Tho' brighten'd by PHOE BUS'S ray, Wants luftre, compar'd to her eyes.