The wife's trials, Volumen3

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Página 64 - If to do were as easy as to know what were good to do, chapels had been churches, and poor men's cottages princes' palaces. It is a good divine that follows his own instructions: I can easier teach twenty what were good to be done, than be one of the twenty to follow mine own teaching.
Página 314 - Where shall the traitor rest, He, the deceiver, Who could win maiden's breast, Ruin, and leave her? In the lost battle, Borne down by the flying, Where mingles war's rattle With groans of the dying; Eleu loro There shall he be lying.
Página 246 - Not for the world: why, man, she is mine own; And I as rich in having such a jewel As twenty seas, if all their sand were pearl, The water nectar, and the rocks pure gold.
Página 199 - Mais elle était du monde où les plus belles choses Ont le pire destin ; Et rose elle a vécu ce que vivent les roses, L'espace d'un matin.
Página 150 - Than heav'n permits; nor mine, though doubled now To trample thee as mire ! For proof look up, And read thy lot in yon celestial sign, Where thou art weigh'd, and shown how light, how weak, If thou resist.
Página 276 - My conscience hath a thousand several tongues, And every tongue brings in a several tale, And every tale condemns me for a villain. Perjury, perjury, in the high'st degree; Murder, stern murder in the dir'st degree; All several sins, all us'd in each degree, Throng to the bar, crying all, 'Guilty, guilty!
Página 104 - tis strange : And oftentimes, to win us to our harm, The instruments of darkness tell us truths : Win -us with honest trifles, to betray us In deepest consequence.
Página 251 - I stay'd ! forgive the crime, Unheeded flew the hours ; How noiseless falls the foot of Time, That only treads on flowers ! What eye with clear account remarks The ebbing of his glass, When all its sands are diamond sparks, That dazzle as they pass...
Página 219 - Our remedies oft in ourselves do lie, Which we ascribe to heaven : the fated sky Gives us free scope; only, doth backward pull Our slow designs, when we ourselves are dull.
Página 149 - tis said, in days of yore ; But something ails it now — the place is curst.

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