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Abra arms battle of Ramillies beauty Belgia bless'd breast breath bright call'd charms command confess'd court crown'd cruel cruel doubt death delight Derry distinguish'd dread Earl Earl of Dorset earth Elector of Bavaria fair fame fate fear flame flies force glory grace grief grieve happy hast heart Heaven hero Hippolytus honour hope Hudibras Jove kind king labour land light live Lord lyre maid master Matthew Prior mind mourn Muse Namur ne'er never night numbers Nut-brown Maid nymph o'er obey pain pass'd passion peace Phaedra Pindaric pleasure poem poet poor praise pride prince Prior Queen rage reason reign rising Sambre sighs sing Solomon song sorrow soul sure tears tell thee things thou thought throne to-morrow toil truth twas verse vex'd virtue ween weep whence Whilst William wound youth
Page 204 - I know that, whatsoever God doeth, it shall be for ever: nothing can be put to it, nor any thing taken from it: and God doeth it, that men should fear before him.
Page 262 - All the rivers run into the sea; yet the sea is not full; unto the place from whence the rivers come, thither they return again.
Page 204 - He hath made every thing beautiful in his time : also he hath set the world in their heart, so that no man can find out the work that God maketh from the beginning to the end." — Ver. 11. " For in much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge, increaseth sorrow.
Page 204 - Vanity of vanities, saith the Preacher, vanity of vanities; all is vanity. What profit hath a man of all his labour which he taketh under the sun?
Page 204 - And he spake of trees, from the cedar tree that is in Lebanon even unto the hyssop that springeth out of the wall: he spake also of beasts, and of fowl, and of creeping things, and of fishes.
Page 229 - I made me great works; I builded me houses; I planted me vineyards: I made me gardens and orchards, and I planted trees in them of all kind of fruits: I made me pools of water, to water therewith the wood that bringeth forth trees...
Page 58 - THE merchant, to secure his treasure, Conveys it in a borrow'd name: Euphelia serves to grace my measure; But Cloe is my real flame. My softest verse, my darling lyre, Upon Euphelia's toilet lay; When Cloe noted her desire, That I should sing, that I should play. My lyre I tune, my voice I raise; But with my numbers mix my sighs: And whilst I sing Euphelia's praise, I fix my soul on Cloe's eyes.
Page 262 - ... or ever the silver cord be loosed, or the golden bowl be broken, or the pitcher be broken at the fountain, or the wheel broken at the cistern. Then shall the dust return to the earth as it was : and the spirit shall return unto GOD Who gave it.