Bradbury & Evans, 1855 - 159 páginas

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Página 90 - Would you know how first he met her ? She was cutting bread and butter. Charlotte was a married lady, And a moral man was Werther, And for all the wealth of Indies, Would do nothing for to hurt her. So he sighed and pined and ogled, And his passion boiled and bubbled, Till he blew his silly brains out, And no more was by it troubled. (90) Charlotte, having seen his body Borne before her on a shutter, Like a well-conducted person, Went on cutting bread and butter.
Página 66 - Happy we'll be ! Drink, every one; Pile up the coals, Fill the red bowls, Round the old tree ! Drain we the cup.— Friend, art afraid ? Spirits are laid In the Red Sea. Mantle it up ; Empty it yet; Let us forget, Round the old tree.
Página 44 - And when, its force expended, The harmless storm was ended, And as the sunrise splendid Came blushing o'er the sea; I thought, as day was breaking, My little girls were waking, And smiling, and making A prayer at home for me.
Página 87 - Kneel, undisturb'd, fair Saint ! Pour out your praise or plaint Meekly and duly ; I will not enter there, To sully your pure prayer With thoughts unruly. But suffer me to pace Round the forbidden place, Lingering a minute Like outcast spirits who wait And see through heaven's gate Angels within it.
Página 169 - Bahawther, was ! This Gineral great then tuck his sate, With all the other ginerals, (Bedad his troat, his belt, his coat, All bleezed with precious minerals; And as he there, with princely air, Recloinin on his cushion was, All round about his royal chair The squeezin and the pushin was.
Página 86 - ALTHOUGH I enter not, Yet round about the spot Ofttimes I hover : And near the sacred gate, With longing eyes I wait, Expectant of her.
Página 224 - d say, how fate may change and shift ; The prize be sometimes with the fool, The race not always to the swift. The strong may yield, the good may fall, The great man be a vulgar clown, The knave be lifted over all, The kind cast pitilessly down.
Página 102 - THERE lived a sage in days of yore, And he a handsome pigtail wore ; But wondered much and sorrowed more Because it hung behind him. He mused upon this curious case, And swore he'd change the pigtail's place, And have it hanging at his face, Not dangling there behind him. Says he, " The mystery I've found, — I'll turn me round," — he turned him round ; But still it hung behind him.
Página 223 - A face that's anything but gay. One word, ere yet the evening ends, Let's close it with a. parting rhyme, And pledge a hand to all young friends, As fits the merry Christmas time.
Página 124 - Bacchus' blessings are a treasure, Drinking is the soldier's pleasure: Rich the treasure, Sweet the pleasure, Sweet is pleasure after pain. Soothed with the sound, the king grew vain; Fought all his battles o'er again, And thrice he routed all his foes, and thrice he slew the slain!

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