My lady Green Sleeves, by the author of 'Comin' thro' the rye'.

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293. oldal - Horatio, what a wounded name, Things standing thus unknown, shall live behind me. If thou didst ever hold me in thy heart, Absent thee from felicity awhile, And in this harsh world draw thy breath in pain, To tell my story.
324. oldal - Dangerous conceits are, in their natures, poisons, Which, at the first, are scarce found to distaste ; But, with a little act upon the blood, Burn like the mines of sulphur.
358. oldal - Whose horrid image doth unfix my hair, And make my seated heart knock at my ribs, Against the use of nature ? Present fears Are less than horrible imaginings : My thought, whose murder yet is but fantastical, Shakes so my single state of man, that function Is smother'd in surmise; and nothing is, But what is not.
244. oldal - Tis not sic cauld that makes me cry, But my love's heart grown cauld to me. When we came in by Glasgow town, We were a comely sight to see; My love was clad in the black velvet, And I mysel
110. oldal - Learning without thought is labour lost; thought without learning is perilous.' CHAP. XVI. The Master said, The study of strange doctrines is injurious indeed!' CHAP. XVII. The Master said, 'Yu, shall I teach you what knowledge is? When you know a thing, to hold that you know it; and when you do not know a thing, to allow that you do not know it;— this is knowledge.
264. oldal - Although thy breath be rude. Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! unto the green holly : Most friendship is feigning, most loving mere folly Then, heigh, ho, the holly ! This life is most jolly. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, That dost not bite so nigh As benefits forgot : Though thou the waters warp, Thy sting is not so sharp As friend remember'd not Heigh, ho ! sing, heigh, ho ! &c.
72. oldal - Thy faith and troth thou sail na get, And our true love shall never twin, Until ye tell what comes of women, I wot, who die in strong traivelling ?' •Their beds are made in the heavens high, Down at the foot of our good lord's knee, Weel set about wi' gillyflowers : I wot sweet company for to see.
145. oldal - He is made one with Nature: there is heard His voice in all her music, from the moan Of thunder, to the song of night's sweet bird; He is a presence to be felt and known In darkness and in light, from herb and stone, Spreading itself where'er that Power may move Which has withdrawn his being to its own; Which wields the world with never-wearied love, Sustains it from beneath, and kindles it above.

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