The lady's trial. The sun's darling. The witch of Edmonton. Fames memorial. Poems. Honour triumphant. A line of life. Glossarial index

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J. Toovey, 1869

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Page 253 - I knew there was but one way ; for his nose was as sharp as a pen, and 'a babbled of green fields.
Page 120 - tis the ravished nightingale. 'Jug, jug, jug, jug, tereu,' she cries, And still her woes at midnight rise. Brave prick song! who is't now we hear? None but the lark so shrill and clear; Now at heaven's gates she claps her wings, The morn not waking till she sings. Hark, hark, with what a pretty throat, Poor robin redbreast tunes his note; Hark how the jolly cuckoos sing, Cuckoo to welcome in the spring!
Page 197 - ... for that be made a common sink, For all the filth and rubbish of men's tongues To fall and run into? Some call me Witch, And being ignorant of myself, they go About to teach me how to be one; urging, That my bad tongue (by their bad usage made so) Forespeaks their cattle, doth bewitch their corn, Themselves, their servants, and their babes at nurse. This they enforce upon me; and in part Make me to credit it; and here comes one Of my chief adversaries.
Page 202 - After such covenants seal'd, see full revenge On all that wrong me ? Dog. Ha, ha ! silly woman ! The devil is no liar to such as he loves — Didst ever know or hear the devil a liar To such as he affects '. Saw. Then I am thine ; at least so much of me As I can call mine own — Dog.
Page 152 - CAST away care, he that loves sorrow Lengthens not a day, nor can buy to-morrow: Money is trash; and he that will spend it, Let him drink merrily, Fortune will send it.
Page 243 - I prithee let me scratch thy face ; for thy pen has flay'd off a great many men's skins. You'll have brave doings in the vacation; for knaves and fools are at variance in every village. I'll sue mother Sawyer, and her own sow shall give in evidence against her.
Page 212 - You, sweet, have the power To make me passionate as an April day. Now smile, then weep ; now pale, then crimson red. You are the powerful moon of my blood's sea, To make it ebb or flow into my face, As your looks change.
Page 262 - But, fare you weel, auld Nickie-ben! O wad ye tak a thought an' men' ! Ye aiblins might — I dinna ken — • Still hae a stake — I'm wae to think upo' yon den, Ev'n for your sake ! THE DEATH AND DYING WORDS OF POOR MAILIE, THE AUTHOR'S ONLY PET YOWE.
Page 327 - So seems a star to shoot ; when from our sight Falls the deceit, not from its loss of light; We want use of a soul, who merely know What to our passion, or our sense we owe : By such a hollow glass, our cozen'd eye Concludes alike, all dead, whom it sees die.
Page 118 - Age still waits upon her ; that Spring, the nurse Whose milk the Summer sucks, and is made wanton , Physician to the sick, strength to the sound ; By whom all things above and under ground Are quicken'd with new heat, fresh blood, brave vigour, That spring that on fair cheeks in kisses lays Ten thousand welcomes.

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