The Works: The Royal convert. Jane Shore. Jane Gray. Poems on several occasionsJ. and R. Tonson, T. Osborne, 1766 |
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Página 12
... Night that fled away , I fate , I heard her with an Eloquence divine , Reason of holy and mysterious Truths ; Of Heav'ns moft righteous Doom , of Man's Injustice ; Of Laws to curb the Will , and bind the Paffions ; Of Life , of Death ...
... Night that fled away , I fate , I heard her with an Eloquence divine , Reason of holy and mysterious Truths ; Of Heav'ns moft righteous Doom , of Man's Injustice ; Of Laws to curb the Will , and bind the Paffions ; Of Life , of Death ...
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... Night , at parting from him , he stopt short , Then catch'd my Hand , and with a troubled Accent , With Words that spoke like fecret Shame and Sorrow , He told me he had fomething to impart , And wish'd that I would wait him in the ...
... Night , at parting from him , he stopt short , Then catch'd my Hand , and with a troubled Accent , With Words that spoke like fecret Shame and Sorrow , He told me he had fomething to impart , And wish'd that I would wait him in the ...
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... Night grows tedious , She feems to lag , and hang her fable Wings ; And yet I dread the Dawning of the Morn , As if some screaming Sprite had fhriek'd , and call'd , Hengift , arife , To - morrow is thy last . ARIBERT . A thousand ...
... Night grows tedious , She feems to lag , and hang her fable Wings ; And yet I dread the Dawning of the Morn , As if some screaming Sprite had fhriek'd , and call'd , Hengift , arife , To - morrow is thy last . ARIBERT . A thousand ...
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... Night , the King Intend a Visit to your weeping Princess ? Ha ! ARIBER T. SE OFRID . He may go , ' tis true , with a fair Purpose . Suppofe her funk into a downy Slumber , Her beating Heart juft tir'd , and gone to Reft : Methinks I fee ...
... Night , the King Intend a Visit to your weeping Princess ? Ha ! ARIBER T. SE OFRID . He may go , ' tis true , with a fair Purpose . Suppofe her funk into a downy Slumber , Her beating Heart juft tir'd , and gone to Reft : Methinks I fee ...
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Nicholas Rowe. Thro ' which the beauteous Captive might remove , ' Till night , and a Difguife fhall farther aid her , To fly with Safety to the Britons Camp . ' Tis true , one Danger I might well object- ARIBERT Oh ! do not , do not ...
Nicholas Rowe. Thro ' which the beauteous Captive might remove , ' Till night , and a Difguife fhall farther aid her , To fly with Safety to the Britons Camp . ' Tis true , one Danger I might well object- ARIBERT Oh ! do not , do not ...
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The Works: The Royal Convert. Jane Shore. Jane Gray. Poems on Several Occasions Nicholas Rowe Sin vista previa disponible - 2016 |
Términos y frases comunes
againſt ALICIA ARIBER ARIBERT Arms art thou Beauty behold BELLMOUR Bleffings Bofom Breaft Britons Cauſe Crown Curfe dear Death doft thou Dutchefs of SUFFOLK ETHELINDA ev'n ev'ry Exeunt Eyes facred fafe fair Faith fame Fate fave fcorn Fears fecret feek feems fhall fhould fince firft firſt foft fome Friend Friendſhip ftand ftill fuch fure GARDINER gentle GLO'S GLO'STER Gods Grace Guard GUILFORD Haftings Hand HASTINGS Heart Heav'n Honor Hopes JANE SHORE juft King Lady JANE laft laſt Lord Lord Guilford Dudley Love Mafter moft moſt muft muſt myſelf noble NORTHUMBERLAND o'er Offa OFRID once OSWAL Paffion Peace PEMBROKE Pity Pleaſure Pow'r prefent Prince Queen Rage Reaſon reft rife RODOGUNE royal Saxon Senfe Seofrid ſhall ſhe Sorrows Soul ſpeak ſtill thee thefe theſe thofe thoſe thou art Thought thouſand thro truft whofe Wiſhes Wo't thou wou'd wretched
Pasajes populares
Página 124 - Perhaps, ev'n she may profit by th' example, And teach her beauty not to scorn my pow'r. Glost. This do, and wait me e'er the council sits. [Exeunt Rat. and Cat. My lord, y'are well encountred ; here has been A fair petitioner this morning with us ; Believe me, she has won me much to pity her: Alas! her gentle nature was not made To buffet with adversity. I told her How worthily her cause you had befriended ; How much for your good sake we meant to do, That you had spoke, and all things should be...
Página 141 - Here then exchange we mutually forgiveness : So may the guilt of all my broken vows, My perjuries to thee, be all forgotten, As here my soul acquits thee of my death, As here I part without one angry thought, As here I leave thee with the softest tenderness, Mourning the chance of our disastrous loves, And begging Heav'n to bless and to support thee.
Página 135 - Oh, thou most righteous Judge — Humbly behold, I bow myself to thee, And own thy justice in this hard decree: No longer, then, my ripe offences spare, But what I merit, let me learn to bear. Yet since 'tis all my wretchedness can give, For my past crimes my forfeit life receive; No pity for my sufferings here I crave, And only hope forgiveness in the grave.
Página 155 - Why thus indulge thy fears ? And in despair, Abandon thy distracted soul to horror ? Cast every black and guilty thought behind thee, And let 'em never vex thy quiet more.
Página 102 - How few, like thee, inquire the wretched out, And court the offices of soft Humanity ? Like thee reserve their raiment for the naked, Reach out their bread to feed the crying orphan, Or mix their pitying tears with those that weep ? Thy praise deserves a better tongue than mine, To speak and bless thy name.
Página 127 - And swept away distinction? Peasants trod Upon the necks of nobles. Low were laid The reverend crosier and the holy mitre, And desolation cover'd all the land.
Página 119 - So when the spring renews the flow'ry field, And warns the pregnant nightingale to build, She seeks the safest shelter of the wood, Where she may trust her little tuneful brood, Where no rude swains her shady cell may know, No serpents climb, nor blasting winds may blow; Fond of the chosen place, she views it o'er, Sits there and wanders through the grove no more.
Página 139 - Thy reason is grown wild. Could thy weak hand Bring on this mighty ruin? If it could, What have I done so grievous to thy soul, So deadly, so beyond the reach of pardon, That nothing but my life can make atonement?
Página 142 - Retire, I beg thee; To see thee thus, thou know'st not how it wounds me; Thy agonies are added to my own, And make the burden more than I can bear.
Página 148 - Danc'd all the day before her, and at night Soft slumbers waited on her downy pillow — Now sad and shelterless, perhaps, she lies, Where piercing winds blow sharp, and the chill rain Drops from some pent-house on her wretched head, Drenches her locks, and kills her with the cold. It is too much Hence with her past offences, They are aton'd at full Why stay we, then ? Oh ! let us haste, my friend, and find her out.