A Tour Through Holland: Along the Right and Left Banks of the Rhine, to the South of Germany, in the Summer and Autumn of 1806

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R. Phillips, 1807 - 468 pagina's

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Pagina 38 - Who deserves greatness Deserves your hate: and your affections are A sick man's appetite, who desires most that Which would increase his evil. He that depends Upon your favours, swims with fins of lead, And hews down oaks with rushes. Hang ye ! Trust ye ? With every minute you do change a mind; And call him noble, that was now your hate, Him vile, that was your garland.
Pagina 214 - But earthlier happy is the rose distill'd Than that which, withering on the virgin thorn, Grows, lives, and dies in single blessedness.
Pagina 229 - When the devil was sick, the devil a monk would be, When the devil was well, the devil a monk was he.
Pagina 271 - When the broken arches are black in night, And each shafted oriel glimmers white; When the cold light's uncertain shower Streams on the ruined central tower; When buttress and buttress, alternately, Seem framed of ebon and ivory ; When silver edges the imagery, And the scrolls that teach thee to live and die...
Pagina 60 - This common body, Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream, Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide, To rot itself with motion.
Pagina 6 - That dwell in ships, like swarms of rats, and prey Upon the goods all nations...
Pagina 7 - That feed, like Cannibals, on other fishes, And serve their cousin-germans up in dishes : A land that rides at anchor, and is moor'd, In which they do not live, but go aboard.
Pagina 116 - The barge she sat in, like a burnish'd throne, Burn'd on the water: the poop was beaten gold ; Purple the sails, and so perfumed that The winds were love-sick with them : the oars were silver ; Which to the tune of flutes kept stroke, and made The water, which they beat, to follow faster, As amorous of their strokes.
Pagina 276 - If true, here only, and of delicious taste: Betwixt them lawns, or level downs, and flocks Grazing the tender herb, were interposed, Or palmy hillock, or the flowery lap Of some irriguous valley spread her store, Flowers of all hue, and without thorn the rose...
Pagina 46 - ... a custom loathsome to the eye, hateful to the nose, harmful to the brain, dangerous to the lungs, and in the black stinking fume thereof, nearest resembling the horrible Stygian smoke of the pit that is bottomless.

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