Shropshire Word-book: A Glossary of Archaic and Provincial Words, Etc., Used in the County

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Trübner & Company, 1879 - 524 páginas
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Página 501 - Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious.
Página 142 - Laurence's cell Enter FRIAR LAURENCE, with a basket FRIAR LAURENCE. The grey-eyed morn smiles on the frowning night, Chequering the eastern clouds with streaks of light, And flecked darkness like a drunkard reels From forth day's path and Titan's fiery wheels.
Página 298 - Were such things here, as we do speak about? Or have we eaten of the insane root, That takes the reason prisoner ? Macb.
Página 239 - You taught me language; and my profit on't Is, I know how to curse : The red plague rid you, For learning me your language ! Pro.
Página ciii - Thou hast most traitorously corrupted the youth of the realm in erecting a grammar school : and whereas, before, our forefathers had no other books but the score and the tally, thou hast caused printing to be used, and, contrary to the king, his crown and dignity, thou hast built a paper-mill.
Página 429 - Distaffe standing in the mid, And with unwearied fingers drawing out The lines of life, from living knowledge hid. Sad Clotho held the rocke, the whiles the thrid By griesly Lachesis was spun with paine, That cruell Atropos eftsoones undid, With cursed knife cutting the twist in twaine : Most wretched men, whose dayes depend on thrids so vaine ! XLIX.
Página 444 - Third, by the grace of God of Great Britain, France, and Ireland, King, Defender of the Faith, and so forth, and in the year of our Lord one thousand seven hundred and eighty-four.
Página 465 - tis a lost fear : Man but a rush (83) against Othello's breast, And he retires. Where should Othello go ? Now how dost thou look now ? oh, ill-starred wench ! Pale as thy smock ! When we shall meet at compt, This look of thine will hurl my soul from heaven, And fiends will snatch at it.
Página 501 - It is naught, it is naught, saith the buyer: but when he is gone his way, then he boasteth.
Página 233 - When daisies pied, and violets blue, And lady-smocks all silver white, And cuckoo-buds of yellow hue, Do paint the meadows with delight...

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