Diana's crescent, by the author of 'Mary Powell'.

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Page 71 - A sweet attractive kind of grace ; A full assurance given by looks ; Continual comfort in a face, The lineaments of Gospel books — I trow that count'nance cannot lye, Whose thoughts are legible in the eye.
Page 168 - Things vulgar, and, well weigh'd, scarce worth the praise ? They praise, and they admire, they know not what, And know not whom, but as one leads the other; And what delight to be by such extoll'd, To live upon their tongues, and be their talk, Of whom to be disprais'd were no small praise ? His lot who dares be singularly good.
Page 31 - MY mother bids me bind my hair With bands of rosy hue; Tie up my sleeves with ribbons rare, And lace my bodice blue! "For why," she cries, "sit still and weep, While others dance and play?" Alas! I scarce can go, or creep, While Lubin is away! 'Tis sad to think the days are gone When those we love were near! I sit upon this mossy stone, And sigh when none can hear: And while I spin my flaxen thread, And sing my simple lay, The village seems asleep, or dead, Now Lubin is away!
Page 2 - I AM monarch of all I survey, My right there is none to dispute ; From the centre all round to the sea I am lord of the fowl and the brute.
Page 70 - I blunder at these things? follow the direction of your most loving brother, who in loving you is comparable with me, or exceedeth me. Imitate his virtues, exercises, studies, and actions ; he is a rare ornament of this age, the very formular that all welldisposed young gentlemen of our court do form also their manners and life by. In truth, I speak it without flattery of him, or of myself, he hath the most rare virtues that ever I found in any man.
Page 118 - SHUT, shut the door, good John! fatigued, I said; Tie up the knocker, say I'm sick, I'm dead. The Dog-star rages! nay 'tis past a doubt, All Bedlam, or Parnassus, is let out: Fire in each eye, and papers in each hand, They rave, recite, and madden round the land. What walls can guard me, or what shades can hide? They pierce my thickets, through my grot they glide, By land...
Page 156 - He that is down needs fear no fall; He that is low no pride; He that is humble ever shall Have God to be his guide.
Page 73 - ... of barbers, and the terror of the literary world. After the manner of his wig, the Doctor has constructed his sermon, giving us a discourse of no common length, and subjoining an immeasurable mass of notes, which appear to concern every learned thing, every learned man, and almost every unlearned man since the beginning of the world.
Page 53 - And these had the weather in their favour ; for it is an ill wind that blows no one any good ; and the rain that rains on the just and unjust seems to have a preference for the latter.
Page 191 - ... man may rest in outward things and be settled, but the spirit of faith has here no certain dwelling-place. Its tent is often stretched by rains and winds ; yet the spirit of faith lives, and by these very trials is kept from many snares. For the called one cannot be as Moab, "settled on his lees.

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