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Page 45 - twould abound, If every one should then be truly sound. But we alas ! do commonly behold Blooms fall apace, if mornings be but cold. They too which hang till they young apples are, By blasting winds and vermin take despair.
Page 49 - My little bird, how canst thou sit And sing amidst so many thorns ? Let me but hold upon thee get, My love with honour thee adorns. Thou art at present little worth, Five farthings none will give for thee; But prithee, little bird, come forth, Thou of more value art to me. 'Tis true it is sun-shine to-day, To-morrow birds will have a storm; My pretty one, come thou away, My bosom then shall keep thee warm. Thou subject art to cold o'nights...
Page 53 - ... form of a comfort in his cell, apart from his Bible, Concordance, and Book of Martyrs, was a Rose-Bush ; and of it he was so fond, that it seems to have been sent to him as a memorial of old friendship. '•' This homely Bush doth to mine eyes expose, A very fair, yea comely, ruddy rose. This rose doth always bow its head to me, Saying, 'Come pluck me ; I thy rose will be.
Page 9 - tis spread, Venture a little further thou art dead. Is there not room enough in all the Field For thee to play in, but thou needs must yield To the deceitful glitt'ring of a Glass, Placed betwixt Nets to bring thy death to pass?
Page 80 - Their sinful nature prompts them to rebel, And to delight in paths that lead to hell. Their parents' love and care they overlook, As if relation had them quite forsook. They take the counsels of the wanton, rather Than the most grave instructions of a father.
Page 16 - tis Night, whether 'tis Day or no. I fancy that I see a little light; But cannot yet distinguish day from night. I hope, I doubt, but steddy yet I be not, I am not at a point, the Sun I see not.
Page 57 - The hypocrite is like unto this frog; As like as is the Puppy to the Dog. He is of nature Cold, his Mouth is wide To prate, and at true Goodness to deride.
Page 82 - How willingly brake they their Sleep, If thou, their Bantling, didst but whinch or weep. Their Love to thee was such, they could have giv'n, That thou might'st live, almost, their part of Heav'n. But now, behold, how they rewarded are! For their Indulgent Love, and tender Care, All is forgot, this Love he doth despise, They brought this Bird up to pick out their Eyes. LXVII Upon the Boy on his Hobby-horse.