Outlines of the History of the English Language for the Use of the Junior Classes in Colleges and the Higher Classes in Schools

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Chapman and Hall, 1872 - English language - 148 pages
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Page 136 - I am resolved what to do, that, when I am put out of the stewardship, they may receive me into their houses.
Page 137 - The turtle to her make hath told her tale. Summer is come, for every spray now springs: The hart hath hung his old head on the pale; The buck in brake his winter coat he flings; The fishes flete with new repaired scale.
Page 144 - When it raineth it is his pent-house; when it bloweth it is his tent ; when it freezeth it is his tabernacle. In summer he can wear it loose, in winter he can wrap it close ; at all times he can use it ; never heavy, never cumbersome.
Page 143 - And the lord commended the unjust steward, because he had done wisely : for the children of this world are in their generation wiser than the children of light.
Page 144 - ... in waste places, far from danger of law, maketh his mantle his house, and under it covereth himself from the wrath of Heaven, from the offence of the earth...
Page 141 - I say, for hee yeeldeth to the powers of the minde, an image of that whereof the Philosopher bestoweth but a woordish description : which dooth neyther strike, pierce, nor possesse the sight of the soule, so much as that other dooth.
Page 146 - There was a certain rich man, which had a steward; and the same was accused unto him that he had wasted his goods.
Page 146 - So he called every one of his lord's debtors unto him, and said unto the first, How much owest thou unto my lord ? And he said, An hundred measures of oil. And he said unto him, Take thy bill, and sit down quickly, and write fifty. Then said he to another, And how much owest thou? And he said, An hundred measures of wheat. And he said unto him, Take thy bill, and write fourscore.
Page 137 - The swift swallow pursueth the flies smale; The busy bee her honey now she mings ; Winter is worn that was the flowers' bale. And thus I see among these pleasant things Each care decays ; and yet my sorrow springs.
Page 117 - There was a priest in the land Who was named Layamon. He was son of Leovenath, — May the Lord be gracious to him ! — He dwelt at Ernley, at a noble church Upon Severn's bank. Good it seemed to him, Near Radstone, Where he read book. It came to him in mind, And in his chief thought, That he would of England Tell the noble deeds.

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