Trecothick bower; or, The lady of the West country

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Printed at the Minerva Press, for A. K. Newman and Company, 1814

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Seite 232 - Why, why is this ? Think'st thou I'd make a life of jealousy ; To follow still the changes of the moon With fresh suspicions ? No ! to be once in doubt, Is once to be resolved.
Seite 1 - Tis somewhat to my humour ; stay, I fancy I'm now turned wild, a commoner of nature; Of all forsaken, and forsaking all; Live in a shady forest's sylvan scene, Stretched at my length beneath some blasted oak, I lean my head upon the mossy bark, And look just of a piece as I grew from it ; My uncombed locks, matted like mistletoe, Hang o'er my hoary face; a murm'ring brook Runs at my foot.
Seite 199 - And there with holy virgins live immured : Coarse my attire, and short shall be my sleep, Broke by the melancholy midnight bell. Now, Raymond, now be satisfied at last : Fasting and tears, and penitence and prayer, Shall do dead Sancho justice every hour.
Seite 150 - Hath op'd his ponderous and marble jaws To cast thee up again ! What may this mean, That thou, dead corse, again, in complete steel, Revisit'st thus the glimpses of the moon, Making night hideous ; and us, fools of nature, So horridly to shake our disposition, With thoughts beyond the reaches of our souls ? Say, why is this ? wherefore ? what should we do ? /for.
Seite 124 - To tell me something ; for instruction then — He teaches holy sorrow and contrition, And penitence. — Is it become an art then? A trick that lazy, dull, luxurious gownmen Can teach us to do over?
Seite 51 - Think you saw what pass'd at our last parting; Think you beheld him like a raging lion, Pacing the earth and tearing up his steps, Fate in his eyes, and roaring with the pain Of burning fury; think you saw his one hand...
Seite 30 - Both in his Looks so join'd, that they might move Fear ev'n in Friends, and from an Enemy Love. Hot as ripe Noon, sweet as the blooming Day, Like .fitly furious, but more fair than May. Ib. v. 43. Th' accurst Philislian stands on th' other Side, Grumbling aloud, and smiles 'twixt Rage and Pride.
Seite 1 - I lean my head upon the mossy bark, And look just of a piece as I grew from it : My uncomb'd locks, matted like mistletoe, Hang o'er my hoary face ; a murm'ring brook Runs at my foot Vent.

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