A Series of Genuine Letters Between Henry and Francesprinted in the year, 1770 |
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Adieu affure againſt alfo almoſt alſo Amuſement anſwer becauſe beſt Bleffing Buſineſs charming Chefter Cloyne dear Harry dearest defire Diſorder Dublin Expreffion exprefs fafe faid fame Fançhon Fanny Farmley feel feem felf fend fenfible fent fhall fince firft firſt fome fometimes fond foon forry FRANCES to HENRY Friend ftiled ftill fuch fuffer fufficient fupply fuppofe fure Happineſs happy Heart HENRY to FRANCES himſelf hope Houſe Huſband Indulgence Inftance itſelf juft juſt laft laſt Letter leaſt lefs LETTER LETTER London Love Mind moft moſt muft muſt myſelf never Occafion Pacquet Paffage paffed Paffion paft Pain Panopea Paragraph paſt Perfon Philofophy pleaſant pleaſed Pleaſure Poft poor prefent raiſe Reaſon received Reft rejoice ſay ſee ſeems ſend Senfe Senſe ſhall ſhe ſhould ſome ſpeak Spirits ſtill ſuch Tenderneſs thefe themſelves theſe Thing thofe thoſe thought uſed Voifinage Weather Windfor wiſh write Yeſterday yourſelf
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28. oldal - 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...
78. oldal - 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...
246. oldal - I am not merry ; but I do beguile The thing I am, by seeming otherwise.
78. oldal - 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.
107. oldal - Л subject soon exhausts itself with me. You must get some of your volume friends to spin the text for you.
123. oldal - 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...