What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
America argument atheism authority Avesta beautiful believe Bishop Blessed Canadian French Catholic Catholic Church century Christ Christian cloth College Colonel Claverock Crayston cross crucifix death devotion Divine doctrine earth England English eternal evil existence Exmore eyes fact faith Father Labonde Fcap feel French George Eliot give Gmunden grace heart Holy interest JAMES BRITTEN Jesuits Jesus Juan Bernardino labours Lady Ledchester Lady Maud Lady of Guadalupe living London look Lord Ledchester Lord Ripon matter mind mission modern mole MONTH ADVERTISER moral nature never opinion otter perfection persons present priest Protestant Protestantism question Raven's Combe readers reason religion religious Roman Sabetti Saoshyant schools Society Society of Jesus soul speak spirit stranger supernatural suppose Tepeyac things thought tilma true truth words writer young
Page 69 - No! Up, sword; and know thou a more horrid hent: When he is drunk asleep, or in his rage, Or in the incestuous pleasure of his bed; At gaming, swearing, or about some act That has no relish of salvation in't; Then trip him, that his heels may kick at heaven, And that his soul may be as damn'd and black As hell, whereto it goes.
Page 68 - I the matter will re-word, which madness Would gambol from. Mother, for love of grace, Lay not that flattering unction to your soul, That not your trespass, but my madness speaks. It will but skin and film the ulcerous place, Whilst rank corruption, mining all within, Infects unseen. Confess yourself to Heaven; Repent what's past, avoid what is to come, And do not spread the compost on the weeds, To make them rank.
Page 83 - And he came to Nazareth, where he had been brought up: and, as his custom was, he went into the synagogue on the sabbath day, and stood up for to read.
Page 69 - Why, this is hire and salary, not revenge. He took my father grossly, full of bread ; With all his crimes broad blown...
Page 73 - Even to the teeth and forehead of our faults To give in evidence. What then? what rests? Try what repentance can: what can it not? Yet what can it, when one can not repent? O wretched state! O bosom black as death! O limed soul, that struggling to be free Art more engaged! Help, angels! make assay; Bow, stubborn knees; and heart with strings of steel Be soft as sinews of the new-born babe. All may be well.
Page 66 - But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul, freeze thy young blood, Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres, Thy knotted and combined locks to part And each particular hair to stand on end, Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood.
Page 71 - O, my offence is rank, it smells to heaven; It hath the primal eldest curse upon't, A brother's murder. Pray can I not, Though inclination be as sharp as will.
Page 68 - Remember thee? Yea, from the table of my memory I'll wipe away all trivial fond records, All saws of books, all forms, all pressures past, That youth and observation copied there; And. thy commandment all alone shall live Within the book and volume of my brain, Unmix'd with baser matter: yes, by heaven.
Page 66 - Would harrow up thy soul; freeze thy young blood; Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres; Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end, Like quills upon the fretful porcupine : But this eternal blazon must not be To ears of flesh and blood : — List, list, O list ! — If thou didst ever thy dear father love, Ham.
Page 67 - tis nobler in the mind to suffer The slings and arrows of outrageous fortune, Or to take arms against a sea of troubles, And by opposing end them ? To die: to sleep; No more; and by a sleep to say we end The heart-ache and the thousand natural shocks That flesh is heir to, 'tis a consummation Devoutly to be wish'd. To die, to sleep; To sleep: perchance to dream: ay there's the rub; For in that sleep of death what dreams may come When we have shuffled off this mortal coil...