The Life of George Brummell, Esq., Commonly Called Beau Brummell, 第 1 卷

Saunders and Otley, 1844 - 394 頁



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第 141 頁 - We buried him darkly at dead of night, The sods with our bayonets turning ; By the struggling moonbeam's misty light, And the lantern dimly burning.
第 xviii 頁 - Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound Of waters issued from a cave and spread Into a liquid plain then stood unmoved Pure as the expanse of heaven I thither went With unexperienced thought and laid me down On the green bank to look into the clear Smooth lake that to me seemed another sky.
第 xviii 頁 - Under a shade on flowers, much wondering where And what I was, whence thither brought, and how. Not distant far from thence a murmuring sound Of waters issued from a cave, and spread Into a liquid plain...
第 177 頁 - 1 terzo cerchio serra La rividi più bella e meno altera. Per man mi prese e disse : In questa spera Sarai ancor meco, se '1 desir non erra. I* son colei che ti die' tanta guerra E compie
第 xviii 頁 - What thou seest, What there thou seest, fair creature, is thyself; With thee it came and goes...
第 221 頁 - Not on the cross my eyes were fix'd, but you : Not grace, or zeal, love only was my call, And if I lose thy love, I lose my all.
第 286 頁 - I'd give the lands of Deloraine Dark Musgrave were alive again ; ' that is, * I would give many a sugar-cane Monk Lewis were alive again.
第 317 頁 - Thank you, alderman ; for the future, I shall never drink any porter but yours." " I wish, sir," replied the brewer, " that every other blackguard in London would tell me the same.
第 202 頁 - Yes, on my faith, there are bouts-rime's on a buttered muffin, made by Her Grace the Duchess of Northumberland ; receipts to make them, by Corydon the venerable, alias George Pitt ; others, very pretty, by Lord Palmerston ; some by Lord Carlisle ; many by Mrs. Miller herself, that have no fault but wanting metre : and immortality promised to her without end or measure.
第 245 頁 - Is view'd the mistress, or is heard the wife. The poorest peasant of the poorest soil, The child of poverty, and heir to toil, Early from radiant Love's impartial light Steals one small spark to cheer this world of night: Dear spark! that oft through winter's chilling woes Is all the warmth his little cottage knows!