New Monthly Magazine, 第 102 卷

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第 141 頁 - How happy could I be with either, Were t'other dear Charmer away!
第 191 頁 - There is not so variable a thing in nature as a lady's head-dress. Within my own memory I have known it rise and fall above thirty degrees. About ten years ago it shot up to a very great height, insomuch that the female part of our species were much taller than the men. The women were of such an enormous stature, that "we appeared as grasshoppers before them...
第 291 頁 - Or in the night, imagining some fear, How easy is a bush supposed a bear ! HIP.
第 126 頁 - Or who shut up the sea with doors, when it brake forth, as if it had issued out of the womb? When I made the cloud the garment thereof, and thick darkness a swaddling band for it, And brake up for it my decreed place, and set bars and doors, And said, "Hitherto shalt thou come, but no further: and here shall thy proud waves be stayed?
第 187 頁 - ... bras between his hands, as if he wished to compress it, or under his arm; knees bent and feet on tiptoe, as if afraid of a wet floor. His...
第 290 頁 - With riotous feeders, when our vaults have wept With drunken spilth of wine, when every room Hath blazed with lights and bray'd with minstrelsy, I have retired me to a wasteful cock, And set mine eyes at flow.
第 194 頁 - Not to be tedious, there is scarce any emotion in the mind which does not produce a suitable agitation in the fan ; insomuch, that if I only see the fan of a disciplined lady, I know very well whether she laughs, frowns, or blushes.
第 313 頁 - When Hopkins dies, a thousand lights attend The wretch who living saved a candle's end...
第 474 頁 - Verily, verily, I say unto thee, when thou wast young, thou girdest thyself, and walkedst whither thou wouldest: but when thou shalt be old, thou shalt stretch forth thy hands, and another shall gird thee, and carry thee whither thou wouldest not.
第 485 頁 - Temper the soot within this vase of oil, And let the little tripod aid thy toil. On this, methinks, I see the walking crew, At thy request, support the miry shoe ; The foot grows black that was with dirt embrown'd, And in thy pocket gingling halfpence sound.

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