The works of Samuel Richardson, with a prefatory chapter of biogr. criticism by L. Stephen, Volume 7

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Pagina 493 - tis too horrible ! The weariest and most loathed worldly life, That age, ache, penury, and imprisonment Can lay on nature, is a paradise To what we fear of death.
Pagina 438 - As I was in the days of my youth, when the secret of God was upon my tabernacle; When the Almighty was yet with me, when my children were about me; When I washed my steps with butter, and the rock poured me out rivers of oil...
Pagina 455 - For the arrows of the Almighty are within me, the poison whereof drinketh up my spirit: the terrors of God do set themselves in array against me.
Pagina 493 - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction and to rot ; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice...
Pagina 455 - For the thing which I greatly feared is come upon me, and that which I was afraid of is come unto me. I was not in safety, neither had I rest, neither was I quiet; yet trouble came.
Pagina 438 - Oh that I were as in months past, as in the days when God preserved me; When his candle shined upon my head, and when by his light I walked through darkness...
Pagina 516 - If I justify myself, mine own mouth shall condemn me: If I say, "I am perfect," it shall also prove me perverse.
Pagina 455 - And I am full of tossings to and fro unto the dawning of the day. My flesh is clothed with worms and clods of dust; My skin is broken, and become loathsome. My days are swifter than a weaver's shuttle, And are spent without hope.
Pagina 58 - I hope, however, that this employment will help to calm her spirits. JUST now Dorcas tells me that what she writes she tears, and throws the paper in fragments under the table, either as not knowing what she does, or disliking it: then gets up, wrings her hands, weeps, and shifts her seat all round the room : then returns to her table, sits down, and writes again.
Pagina 349 - An old half-barred stove grate was in the chimney; and in that a large stone bottle without a neck, filled with baleful yew, as an ever-green, withered southernwood, dead sweet-briar, and sprigs of rue in flower. To finish the shocking description, in a dark nook stood an old broken-bottomed cane couch, without a squab, or coverlid, sunk at one corner, and unmortised by the failing of one of its worm-eaten legs, which lay in two pieces under the wretched piece of furniture it could no longer support.

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