The Duke of Alba in Flanders: Or, The Amnesty. An Historical Novel of the Sixteenth Century...

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Page 137 - I saw young Harry, with his beaver on, His cuisses on his thighs, gallantly arm'd, Rise from the ground like feather'd Mercury, And vaulted with such ease into his seat As if an angel dropp'd down from the clouds, To turn and wind a fiery Pegasus, And witch the world with noble horsemanship.
Page 70 - Sometime, we see a cloud that's dragonish, A vapour, sometime, like a bear, or lion, A tower'd citadel, a pendant rock, A forked mountain, or blue promontory With trees upon't, that nod unto the world, And mock our eyes with air: thou hast seen these signs; They are black vesper's pageants.
Page 135 - As was her sister; whether dread did dwell Or anguish in her hart, is hard to tell: Upon her arme a silver anchor lay, Whereon she leaned ever, as befell : And ever up to heaven, as she did pray, Her stedfast eyes were bent, ne swarved other way.
Page 33 - And with a sudden rush of passion through the blood, he seemed to hold her once more in his arms, he felt the warmth of her cheek on his; all her fresh and fragrant youth was present to him, the love in her voice, and in her proud eyes. He turned away, threw himself into a chair, and buried his face in his hands. Sir James looked down upon him. Instead of sympathy, there was a positive lightening in the elder man's face — a gleam of satisfaction. "Cheer up, old fellow!
Page 100 - Than those of age, thy forehead wrapp'd in clouds, A leafless branch thy sceptre, and thy throne A sliding car, indebted to no wheels, But urged by storms along its slippery way, I love thee, all unlovely as thou seem'st, And dreaded as thou art...
Page 116 - Where all the ruddy family around Laugh at the jests or pranks that never fail; Or sigh with pity at some mournful tale; Or press the bashful stranger...
Page 302 - Love is a smoke raised with the fume of sighs ; Being purged, a fire sparkling in lovers...
Page 87 - And with his sugred wordes to muve, His faynings fals, and flattering cheire To me that time did not appeire: But now I see, most cruell hee Cares neither for my babe nor mee.
Page 97 - Winter, ruler of th' inverted year, Thy scatter'd hair with sleet like ashes fill'd, Thy breath congeal'd upon thy lips, thy cheeks...
Page 3 - Can such dishonest thoughts Rise up in man ! wouldst thou seduce my youth To do an act that would destroy my honour ? SYPHAX.

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