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A Series of Genuine Letters Between Henry and Frances [By R. and E. Griffith]
Richard Griffith,Elizabeth Griffith
No preview available - 2015
able Adieu Affection affectionate Amanuensis Amusement answer Blessing charming Chester Children Cholic Cloyne Cold Compliment dear Boy dear Fanny dear Harry dearest dined Dublin Expression fafe faid fame Fanchon fancy Farmley fave fear feel fend flatter fond Frances to Henry Friend give Hand happened happy haps Harry's Health hear Heart Henry to Frances Holyhead Honour hope Idea Impatience India Indulgence Ireland irksome Kilkenny Kind Labour last Letter late LETTER LETTER London Love love Paradoxes Merit Mind Morning Nature never Night Occasion Pacquet Pain Panopea Paragraph Passion perhaps Person Philosophy pleafant pleased Pleasure poor Post pray present Reason received rejoice render returned sensible Sentiment soon sorry Spirits stiled suffer sure surprized tell thank Thing thou thought tion To-morrow Transit of Venus tremely Weather Wife Windsor wish Woman World write wrote Yesterday your's
Page 28 - Biron they call him; but a merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal : His eye begets occasion for his wit; For every object that the one doth catch, The other turns to a mirth-moving jest...
Page 78 - Like as the culver, on the bared bough Sits mourning for the absence of her mate, And in her songs sends many a wishful vow For his return, that seems to linger late ; So I alone, now left disconsolate, Mourn to myself the absence of my love : And wandering here and there all desolate, Seek with my plaints to match that mournful dove : Ne joy of aught that under...
Page 246 - I am not merry ; but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.
Page 78 - Lilceas the Culver36 on the bared bough fits mourning for the abfence of her mate ; and, in her fongs fends many a wifhful vow, for his return that feems to linger late: So I alone now left difconfolate, mourn to myfelf the abfence of my love : and, wand'ring here and there all defolate, feek with my plaints to match that mournful dove.
Page 107 - Л subject soon exhausts itself with me. You must get some of your volume friends to spin the text for you.
Page 123 - THE heavy hours are almoft paft That part my love and me : My longing eyes may hope at laft, Their only wifh to fee. But how, my Delia, will you meet The man you've loft fo long ? Will love in all your pulfes beat, And tremble on your tongue? Will you in every look declare, Your heart is ftill the fame ; And heal each...