The New spectator, with the sage opinions of John Bull, Issues 1-25

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Page 8 - Cromwell, I charge thee, fling away ambition : By that sin fell the angels; how can man, then, The image of his Maker, hope to win by it ? Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee ; Corruption wins not more than honesty.
Page 3 - My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed All under the willow tree. Black his hair as the winter night, White his skin as the summer snow, Red his face as the morning light; Cold he lies in the grave below. My love is dead, Gone to his death-bed, All under the willow-tree.
Page 8 - Love thyself last: cherish those hearts that hate thee; Corruption wins not more than honesty. Still in thy right hand carry gentle peace, To silence envious tongues. Be just, and fear not. Let all the ends thou aim'st at be thy country's, Thy God's, and truth's; then if thou fall'st, O Cromwell, Thou fall'st a blessed martyr!
Page 4 - The beauty of women is considerably owing to their weakness or delicacy, and is even enhanced by their timidity, . a quality of mind analogous to it.
Page 3 - The envied lot of wealth denies ; If doom'd to drag life's painful load Through Poverty's uneven road, And, for the due bread of the day...

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