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Oxford University Press, 1857 - Electronic journals
 

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Page 182 - Laud be to God ! — even there my life must end. It hath been prophesied to me many years, I should not die but in Jerusalem ; Which vainly I supposed the Holy Land. — But bear me to that chamber ; there I'll lie ; In that Jerusalem shall Harry die.
Page 181 - Here shall the sick person be moved to make a special confession of his sins, if he feel his conscience troubled with any weighty matter. After which confession, the Priest shall absolve him (if he humbly and heartily desire it) after this sort.
Page 394 - The chest, contrived a double debt to pay, A bed by night, a chest of drawers by day...
Page 43 - The Sacraments were not ordained of Christ to be gazed. upon, or to be carried about, but that we should duly use them. And in such only as worthily receive the same, they have a wholesome effect or operation ; but they that receive them unworthily, purchase to themselves damnation, as St. Paul saith.
Page 233 - And summer's lease hath all too short a date ; Sometime too hot the eye of heaven shines, And often is his gold complexion dimm'd ; And every fair from fair sometime declines, By chance or nature's changing course untrimm'd. But thy eternal summer shall not fade Nor lose possession of that fair thou owest ; Nor shall Death brag thou wander'st in his shade, When in eternal lines to time thou growest.
Page 407 - For magnificence, for pathos, for vehement exhortation, for subtle disquisition, for every purpose of the poet, the orator, and the divine, this homely dialect, the dialect of plain working men, was perfectly sufficient.
Page 119 - Yet I glory More in the cunning purchase of my wealth, Than in the glad possession, since I gain No common way; I use no trade, no venture; I wound no earth with plough-shares, fat no beasts, To feed the shambles; have no mills for iron, Oil, corn, or men, to grind them into powder: I blow no subtle glass, expose no ships To threat'nings of the furrow-faced sea; I turn no monies...
Page 14 - Sweepings from Butchers Stalls, Dung, Guts, and Blood, Drown'd Puppies, stinking Sprats, all drench'd in Mud, Dead Cats and Turnip-Tops, come tumbling down the Flood.
Page 71 - ... an inward prompting which now grew daily upon me, that by labour and intent study (which I take to be my portion in this life) joined with the strong propensity of nature, I might perhaps leave something so written to aftertimes, as they should not willingly let it die.
Page 233 - If I do prove her haggard, Though that her jesses were my dear heart-strings, I'd whistle her off, and let her down the wind, To prey at fortune.

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