The temple, sacred poems and private ejaculations. [With] The synagogue, 第 1-2 卷

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第 91 頁 - Each creature hath a wisdom for his good. The pigeons feed their tender offspring crying, When they are callow ; but withdraw their food, When they are fledged, that need may teach them flying.
第 78 頁 - For us, the winds do blow, The earth doth rest, heaven move, and fountains flow; Nothing we see, but means our good, As our delight, or as our treasure; The whole is either our cupboard of food, Or cabinet of pleasure.
第 91 頁 - Sir, said she, Tell me, I pray, whose hands are those ? But thou shalt answer, Lord, for me. Then Money came, and chinking still, What tune is this, poor man ? said he : I heard in Music you had skill...
第 74 頁 - The dew shall weep thy fall to-night ; For thou must die. Sweet Rose, whose hue, angry and brave, Bids the rash gazer wipe his eye, Thy root is ever in its grave, And thou must die. Sweet Spring, full of sweet days and roses, A box where sweets compacted lie, My music shows ye have your closes, And all must die.
第 150 頁 - Into thy face, Thou art grown fair and full of grace, Much in request, much sought for as a good. For we do now behold thee gay and glad, As at doomsday, When souls shall wear their new array, And all thy bones with beauty shall be clad.
第 149 頁 - Will not grow bright and clean. A servant with this clause Makes drudgery divine: Who sweeps a room, as for Thy laws, Makes that and the action fine. This is the famous stone That turneth all to gold : For that which God doth touch and own Cannot for less be told.
第 119 頁 - The Collar I struck the board, and cry'd, No more. I will abroad. What? shall I ever sigh and pine? My lines and life are free; free as the rode, Loose as the winde, as large as store. Shall I be still in suit? Have I no harvest but a thorn To let me bloud, and not restore What I have lost with cordiall fruit? Sure there was wine...
第 24 頁 - I straight return'd, and, knowing his great birth, Sought him accordingly in great resorts ; In cities, theatres, gardens, parks, and courts : At length I heard a ragged noise and mirth Of theeves and murderers : there I him espied, "Who straight Your suit is granted, said, and died.
第 130 頁 - The late-past frosts tributes of pleasure bring. Grief melts away Like snow in May, As if there were no such cold thing. Who would have thought my shrivelled heart Could have recovered greenness?

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