Gallantry: Dizain Des Fêtes Galantes

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R. M. McBride, 1924 - Всего страниц: 342
 

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Стр. 130 - He is taller, by almost the breadth of my nail, than any of his court ; which alone is enough to strike an awe into the beholders.
Стр. 217 - But these are all lies : men have died from time to time and worms have eaten them, but not for love.
Стр. 118 - And the chief priests took the silver pieces, and said, It is not lawful for to put them into the treasury, because it is the price of blood.
Стр. 133 - Pack, clouds, away ! and welcome, day ! With night we banish sorrow. Sweet air, blow soft ; mount, lark, aloft To give my Love good-morrow ! Wings from the wind to please her mind, Notes from the lark I'll borrow.
Стр. 139 - ... of it, the foul abuses of it, in regard of the afflicted saints, that are troubled, very much troubled, exceedingly troubled, with the opening of the merchandise of Babylon again, and the peeping of popery upon the stalls here, here, in the high places. See you not Goldylocks, the purple strumpet there, in her yellow gown and green sleeves ? the profane pipes, the tinkling timbrels ? a shop of relicks ! [Attempts to seize the toys.
Стр. 55 - I did, as I hope to be saved, madam. My intentions were good. But this is the most cruel thing, to marry one does not know how, nor why, nor wherefore.
Стр. 35 - But chiefly Love — to Love an altar built, - Of twelve vast French romances, neatly gilt. There lay three garters, half a pair of gloves, And all the trophies of his former loves ; With tender billet-doux he lights the pyre, And breathes three amorous sighs to raise the fire : Then prostrate falls, and begs, with ardent eyes, Soon to obtain, and long possess the prize.
Стр. 103 - I am thinking if some little, filching, inquisitive poet should get my story, and represent it to the stage, what those ladies who are never precise but at a play would say of me now ; — that I were a confident, coming piece, I warrant, and they would damn the poor poet for libelling the sex.
Стр. xxi - You're a woman - one to whom heaven gave beauty when it grafted roses on a briar. You are the reflection of heaven in a pond, and he that leaps at you is sunk. You are all white, a sheet of lovely spotless paper, when you first are born; but you are to be scrawled and blotted by every goose's quill.
Стр. 99 - And he gave her to an Granger. " Ken ye how he requited him ? Ken ye how he requited him ? The...

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