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absence affairs altho April Aswarby beg you woud believe blessing Bury cant coach coud dear dear angel dear dearest dear letter Duke of Marlborough Dutchess ever-new Delight Newmarket faithful faithfull farr father fear Felton give glad Grace happy happyness hath hear heart Hervey to John hither honour hope Ickworth intirely Jack John Hervey kind Lady Hervey Lady Sunderland last night leave lett London Lord Lord Hervey Lord Treasurer Lordship lover Marlborough mind morning morrow never obligd occasion pain Papa pleasd pleasure Pray publick receive resolvd Richard Cocks sent servant shoud Sir Thomas Sir Thomas Felton Sir Thomas Hanmer Sir William Gage soul sure tell thank thee thing thou thought throughly Thurleigh told trouble twas wherein wife wish word ye best ye Duke ye favour ye last ye whole ye world yesterday you'l
Page 252 - How could it be so fair, and you away? How could the trees be beauteous, flowers so gay? Could they remember but last year, How you did them, they you delight, The sprouting leaves which saw you here, And...
Page 232 - God; for thou hast also spoken of thy servant's house for a great while to come, and hast regarded me according to the estate of a man of high degree, O LORD God.
Page 378 - O let it never perish in your hands ! But piously transmit it to your children. Do thou, great liberty, inspire our souls, And make our lives in thy possession happy, Or our deaths glorious in thy just defence.
Page 197 - By every wind that comes this way, Send me at least a sigh or two, Such and so many I'll repay As shall themselves make winds to get to you.
Page 54 - For when Thou art angry all our days are gone ; we bring our years to an end, as it were a tale that is told.
Page 379 - Th' insulting tyrant, prancing o'er the field Strow'd with Rome's citizens, and drench'd in slaughter, His horse's hoofs wet with Patrician blood ! Oh, Portius ! is there not some chosen curse, Some hidden thunder in the stores of heaven, Red with uncommon wrath, to blast the man, Who owes his greatness to his country's ruin...
Page 56 - Is it nothing to you, all ye that pass by ? behold, and see if there be any sorrow like unto my sorrow, which is done unto me, wherewith the Lord hath afflicted me in the day of his fierce anger.
Page 377 - Content thyself to be obscurely good. When vice prevails, and impious men bear sway, The post of honour is a private station.