Under Salisbury Spire in the Days of George Herbert: The Recollections of Magdalene Wydville

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Seeley and Company, Limited, 1890 - English fiction - 344 pages
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Page 166 - Where the bee sucks, there suck I ; In a cowslip's bell I lie; There I couch when owls do cry. On the bat's back I do fly After summer merrily. Merrily, merrily shall I live now Under the blossom that hangs on the bough.
Page 303 - The Sundays of man's life, Threaded together on time's string, Make bracelets to adorn the wife Of the eternal glorious King. On Sunday heaven's gate stands ope ; Blessings are plentiful and rife — More plentiful than hope.
Page 242 - TEACH me, my God and King, In all things Thee to see, And what I do in anything, To do it as for Thee...
Page 86 - This figure that thou here seest put, It was for gentle Shakespeare cut, Wherein the graver had a strife With nature, to out-do the life. O, could he but have drawn his wit As well in brass as he hath hit His face — the print would then surpass All that was ever writ in brass. But since he cannot, Reader, look Not on his picture, but his book.
Page 251 - Thy life on earth was grief, and thou art still Constant unto it, making it to be A point of honour, now to grieve in me, And in thy members suffer ill.
Page 237 - If thou chance for to find " A new house to thy mind, " And built without thy cost : " Be good to the poor, " As God gives thee store, " And then my labour's not lost...
Page 1 - HARK, how the birds do sing, And woods do ring. All creatures have their joy, and man hath his. Yet if we rightly measure, Man's joy and pleasure Rather hereafter, than in present, is. To this life things of sense Make their pretence : In th...
Page 86 - This Figure, that thou here seest put, It was for gentle Shakespeare cut ; Wherein the Graver had a strife With Nature, to out-doo the life: O, could he but have drawne his wit As well in brasse, as he hath hit His face ; the print would then surpasse All that was ever writ in brasse. But, since he cannot, Reader, looke Not on his Picture, but his Booke.
Page 196 - Scorn no man's love, though of a mean degree ; (Love is a present for a mighty king,) Much less make any one thine enemy. As guns destroy, so may a little sling. The cunning workman never doth refuse The meanest tool, that he may chance to use.

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