A cyclopædia of female biography, ed. by H.G. Adams

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Strona 23 - Favour is deceitful, and beauty is vain: but a woman that feareth the Lord, she shall be praised. Give her of the fruit of her hands; and let her own works praise her in the gates.
Strona 290 - And the LORD God caused a deep sleep to fall upon Adam, and he slept: and he took one of his ribs, and closed up the flesh instead thereof; and the rib, which the LORD God had taken from man, made he a woman, and brought her unto the man.
Strona 668 - And yet indeed she is my sister; she is the daughter of my father, but not the daughter of my mother; and she became my wife.
Strona 236 - Barak, Up ; for this is the day in which the Lord hath delivered Sisera into thine hand: is not the Lord gone out before thee?
Strona 194 - I have been bullied by an usurper ; I have been neglected by a court ; but I will not be dictated to by a subject : your man shan't stand. " ANNE Dorset, Pembroke and Montgomery.
Strona 159 - And that which should accompany old age, As honour, love, obedience, troops of friends, I must not look to have ; but, in their stead, Curses, not loud but deep, mouth-honour, breath, Which the poor heart would fain deny, and dare not.
Strona 341 - I hate your immense loads of meat — that is country all over ; extreme disgusting to those who are in the least acquainted with high life." By this time my curiosity began to abate, and my appetite to increase ; the company of fools may at first make us smile, but at last never fails of rendering us melancholy.
Strona 548 - Athens learn'd to please, To keen the wit, and to sublime the heart, In all supreme ! complete in every part ! It was not thence majestic Rome arose, And o'er the nations shook her conquering dart For sluggard's brow the laurel never grows ; Renown is not the child of indolent Repose.
Strona 269 - Christ was the Word that spake it; He took the bread and brake it i And what that Word did make it, That I believe, and take it.
Strona 188 - What if this cursed hand Were thicker than itself with brother's blood, Is there not rain enough in the sweet heavens To wash it white as snow?

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