Notes and Queries

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Oxford University Press, 1912

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Strona 2 - And the first beast was like a lion, and the second beast like a calf, and the third beast had a face, as a man, and the fourth beast was like a flying eagle.
Strona 68 - Syntax's (Dr.) Three Tours: In Search of the Picturesque, in Search of Consolation, and in Search of a Wife. With the whole of ROWLANDSON'S droll page Illustrations in Colours and a Life of the Author by JC HOTTEN.
Strona 432 - Invest me in my motley ; give me leave To speak my mind, and I will through and through Cleanse the foul body of the infected world, If they will patiently receive my medicine.
Strona 83 - And the poor beetle that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.
Strona 17 - It is now sixteen or seventeen years since I saw the queen of France, then the dauphiness, at Versailles; and surely never lighted on this orb, which she hardly seemed to touch, a more delightful vision.
Strona 106 - tis all a cheat; Yet, fooled with hope, men favour the deceit; Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay: To-morrow's falser than the former day; Lies worse, and, while it says, we shall be blest With some new joys, cuts off what we possest.
Strona 106 - tis all a cheat, Yet fool'd with hope, men favour the deceit: Trust on, and think to-morrow will repay; To-morrow's falser than the former day; Lies worse; and while it says we shall be blest With some new joys, cuts off what we possest.
Strona 27 - I do not love thee, Dr. Fell, The reason why I cannot tell; But this I know, and know full well, I do not love thee. Dr. Fell.
Strona 79 - ... tis a soul like thine, a soul supreme, in each hard instance tried, above all pain, all passion and all pride, the rage of power, the blast of public breath, the lust of lucre and the dread of death.
Strona 94 - Carlyle-Emerson correspondence, edited with too little comment by my dear friend Charles Norton, I find at page 18 this — to me entirely disputable, and to my thought, so far as undisputed, much blameable and pitiable, exclamation of my master's : ' Not till we can think that here and there one is thinking of us, one is loving us, does this waste earth become a peopled garden.

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