Manuella, the Executioner's Daughter: A Story of Madrid

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Página 70 - tis no matter; honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on? how then? Can honour set to a leg? no: or an arm? no: or take away the grief of a wound? no. Honour hath no skill in surgery, then? no. What is honour? a word. What is in that word honour? what is that honour? air. A trim reckoning! Who hath it? he that died o
Página 70 - tis no matter; Honour pricks me on. Yea, but how if honour prick me off when I come on ? how then ? Can honour set to a leg? No. Or an arm? No. Or take away the grief of a wound ? No. Honour hath no skill in surgery then ? No. What is honour? A word. What is in that word, honour? What is that honour? Air. A trim reckoning ! — Who hath it? He that died o
Página 123 - The Spanish maid is no coquette, Nor joys to see a lover tremble ; And if she love, or if she hate, Alike she knows not to dissemble. Her heart can ne'er be bought or sold — Howe'er it beats, it beats sincerely ; And, though it will not bend to gold, 'Twill love you long, and love you dearly.
Página 124 - Fernando, by the grace of God, King of Castile, Leon, Aragon, the two Sicilies, Jerusalem, Navarre, Granada, Toledo, Valencia, Galicia...
Página 204 - ... los lados. El rey, la reina, los grandes, las damas, los cortesanos, los tudescos y alguaciles, el inmenso pueblo, y cuantos En la plaza están, los ojos tornan de Toledo al arco, por cuya barrera asoma un caballero á caballo. Vese en medio de la arena, furia y humo respirando, los ojos como dos brasas, los cuernos ensangrentados, 'Con la pezuña esparciendo ardiente polvo, el mas bravo retinto, á quien dió Jarama yerba encantada en sus campos.
Página 247 - Jesuits in Madrid, forced the gates, secured the bells, collected the fathers in the refectory, and read to them the king's order for their transportation.
Página 26 - ... nor these Alone, but with them gentler powers than mine, Pity, and smiles, and tears — which I had not ; And tenderness— but that I had for her ; Humility — and that I never had. Her faults were mine— her virtues were her own— I loved her. and destroy'd her ! Witch. With thy hand? Man.
Página 89 - A glowing iris bending o'er the storm, A swan emerging from the waves as blight," &c. ANON. ST. JOSEPH'S ETE. — " This is the song one might perceive On a Wednesday morn of St. Joseph's Eve.
Página 247 - Madrid, forced the gates, secured the bells, and collected the fathers in the refectory, who were immediately put into carriages previously placed at proper stations, and were on their way to Carthagena before the inhabitants of the city had any intelligence of the transaction.

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