The British Essayists;: Observer

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J. Johnson, J. Nichols and son, R. Baldwin, F. and C. Rivington, W. Otridge and son, W.J. and J. Richardson, A. Strahan, R. Faulder, ... [and 40 others], 1807

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Seite 48 - For if the blood of bulls and of goats, and the ashes of an heifer sprinkling the unclean, sanctifieth. to the purifying of the flesh : How much more shall the blood of Christ, who through the eternal Spirit offered himself without spot to God, purge your conscience from dead works to serve the living God?
Seite 116 - Hill, Smit with the love of sacred Song; but chief Thee Sion and the flowrie Brooks beneath That wash thy hallowd feet, and warbling flow, Nightly I visit...
Seite 205 - Echo my lord, and lick away a moth: But your fine elegant rascal, that can rise, And stoop, almost together, like an arrow; Shoot through the air as nimbly as a star; Turn short as doth a swallow; and be here.
Seite 246 - Oh woman ! lovely woman ! Nature made thee To temper man : we had been brutes without you ! Angels are painted fair to look like you : There's in you all, that we believe of" heaven ; Amazing brightness, purity and truth, Eternal joy, and everlasting love.
Seite 205 - mongst clods and clodpoles, here on earth. I muse, the mystery was not made a science, It is so liberally profest ! almost All the wise world is little else, in nature, But parasites or sub-parasites.
Seite 205 - But your fine elegant rascal, that can rise, And stoop, almost together, like an arrow; Shoot through the air as nimbly as a star; Turn short as doth a swallow; and be here, And there, and here, and yonder, all at once; Present to any humour, all occasion; And change a visor, swifter than a thought!
Seite 278 - Nay, my good friend, but hear me, I confess Man is the child of sorrow, and this world, In which we breathe, hath cares enough to plague us, But it hath means withal to soothe these cares, And he, who meditates on other's woes, Shall in that meditation lose his own : Call, then, the tragic poet to your aid.
Seite 203 - I am pleased t'unmask a public vice. I fear no strumpet's drugs, nor ruffian's stab, Should I detect their hateful luxuries: No broker's, usurer's, or lawyer's gripe, Were I disposed to say, they are all corrupt. I fear no courtier's frown, should I applaud The easy flexure of his supple hams.
Seite 303 - Only preserve me from the law, kind Gods, And I will thank you for my poverty. Extremes of fortune are true wisdom's test, And he's of men most wise, who bears them best.
Seite 235 - And convoy'd by huge bowls of frumenty, That with their generous odours scent the air. — You stagger me to tell of these good days, And yet to live with us on our hard fare, When death's a deed as easy as to drink. If your mouth waters now, what had it done, Could you have seen our delicate fine thrushes Hot from the spit, with myrtle-berries cramrn'd, And larded well with celandine and parsley, Bob at your hungry lips, crying — Come, eat me!

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