Folchetto Malespina, Or, The Siege of Tortona: A Historical Romance of the Twelfth Century

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Page 316 - The quality of mercy is not strained; It droppeth, as the gentle rain from heaven Upon the place beneath ; it is twice blessed ; It blesseth him that gives, and him that takes...
Page 211 - A woman moved is like a fountain troubled, Muddy, ill-seeming, thick, bereft of beauty; And while it is so, none so dry or thirsty Will deign to sip or touch one drop of it.
Page 285 - And fifty golde chaynes, without any doubt, In velvet coates waited the abbot about. How now, father abbot, I heare it of thee, Thou keepest a farre better house than mee, And for thy house-keeping and high renowne, I feare thou work'st treason against my crown. My liege, quo...
Page 386 - Gondula, and Geira, spread O'er the youthful king your shield. We the reins to slaughter give, Ours to kill, and ours to spare : Spite of danger he shall live, (Weave the crimson web of war. ) They, whom once the desert-beach Pent within its bleak domain, Soon their ample sway shall stretch O'er the plenty of the plain.
Page 100 - THERE were twa brothers at the scule, And when they got awa' — " It's will ye play at the stane-chucking, Or will ye play at the ba', Or will ye gae up to yon hill head, And there we'll warsell a fa'.
Page 173 - It standeth so: a deed is do Whereof much harm shall grow; My destiny is for to die A shameful death, I trow; Or else to flee. The one must be. None other way I know, But to withdraw as an out-law, And take me to my bow. Wherefore, adieu, my own heart true! None other rede I can: For I must to the green wood go, Alone, a banished man.
Page 152 - Dogs, ye have had your day! ye fear'd no more Ulysses vengeful from the Trojan shore; While, to your lust and spoil a guardless prey, Our house, our wealth, our helpless handmaids lay: Not so content, with bolder frenzy...
Page 27 - Why sounds yon stroke on beech and oak, Our moonlight circle's screen? Or who comes here to chase the deer, Beloved of our Elfin Queen? Or who may dare on wold to wear The fairies
Page 414 - DARK was the night, and wild the storm, And loud the torrent's roar; And loud the sea was heard to dash Against the distant shore. Musing on man's weak hapless state, The lonely Hermit lay ; When, lo ! he heard a female voice lament in sore dismay.
Page 85 - Naughty, roistering fellows! I thought I could perceive how this poor Father Francis had worn his life out exhorting them to repentance, and given up the ghost at last in despair, and so been made at once into a saint and a corbel. There were fragments of tracery, of mouldings and...

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