The Monthly Magazine, Band 32

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Sherwood, Gilbert and Piper, 1796

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Seite 127 - The seasons' difference ; as, the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind; Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say, — This is no flattery: these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Seite 222 - Not to a rage. Patience and sorrow strove Who should express her goodliest. You have seen Sunshine and rain at once: her smiles and tears Were like, a better way.
Seite 48 - Llewelyn homeward hied ; When, near the portal seat, His truant Gelert he espied, Bounding his lord to greet. But, when he gain'd his castle door, Aghast the chieftain stood ; The hound all o'er was smear'd with gore His lips, his fangs ran blood.
Seite 20 - It is shaped, sir, like itself; and it is as broad as it hath breadth: it is just so high as it is, and moves with its own organs : it lives by that which nourisheth it ; and the elements once out of it, it transmigrates.
Seite 126 - Blow, blow, thou winter wind, Thou art not so unkind As man's ingratitude ; Thy tooth is not so keen, Because thou art not seen, Although thy breath be rude.
Seite 335 - He goeth after her straightway, as an ox goeth to the slaughter, or as a fool to the correction of the stocks ; till a dart strike through his liver; as a bird hasteth to the snare, and knoweth not that it is for his life.
Seite 233 - ... there is a risk of elevating, by an indiscriminate education, the minds of those doomed to the drudgery of daily labour, above their condition, and thereby rendering them discontented and unhappy in their lot.
Seite 448 - He that despised Moses' law died without mercy under two or three witnesses : of how much sorer punishment, suppose ye, shall he be thought worthy, who hath trodden under foot the Son of God, and hath counted the Blood of the covenant, wherewith he was sanctified, an unholy thing, and hath done despite unto the Spirit of grace...
Seite 113 - The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun: The sea's a thief, whose liquid surge resolves The moon into salt tears: the earth's a thief, That feeds and breeds by a composture stolen From general excrement: each thing's a thief; The laws, your curb and whip, in their rough power Have uncheck'd theft.
Seite 375 - Chamberlaine, the founder i/f the " Society for the relief of Widows and Orphans of Medical men in London and its Vicinity.

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