The Dublin Review, 第 4 卷﹔第 56 卷

Nicholas Patrick Wiseman
Tablet Publishing Company, 1865


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第 27 頁 - t, my lord. Exit KING HENRY. O God of battles! steel my soldiers' hearts; Possess them not with fear; take from them now The sense of reckoning, if the opposed numbers Pluck their hearts from them. Not today, O Lord, O, not today, think not upon the fault My father made in compassing the crown...
第 18 頁 - In law, what plea so tainted and corrupt But, being season'd with a gracious voice, Obscures the show of evil ? In religion, What damned error, but some sober brow Will bless it and approve it with a text...
第 9 頁 - Do not think that I will accuse you to the Father : there is one that accuseth you, even Moses, in whom ye trust. For had ye believed Moses, ye would have believed me : for he wrote of me. But if ye believe not his writings, how shall ye believe my words?
第 26 頁 - Venice gave His body to that pleasant country's earth, And his pure soul unto his captain Christ, Under whose colours he had fought so long.
第 19 頁 - The devil can cite Scripture for his purpose. An evil soul producing holy witness Is like a villain with a smiling cheek, A goodly apple rotten at the heart : O, what a goodly outside falsehood hath ? Shy.
第 291 頁 - I knew a very wise man so much of Sir Chr — 's sentiment, that he believed if a man were permitted to make all the ballads, he need not care who should make the laws of a nation.
第 6 頁 - AND there appeared a great wonder in heaven ; a woman clothed with the sun, and the moon under her feet, and upon her head a crown of twelve stars : and she being with child cried, travailing in birth, and pained to be delivered.
第 27 頁 - Five hundred poor I have in yearly pay, Who twice a day their wither'd hands hold up Toward heaven, to pardon blood ; and I have built Two chantries, where the sad and solemn priests Sing still for Richard's soul.
第 300 頁 - tis neither in eye nor eyesight that a man Bears the fortunes of himself or of his clan ; But in the manly mind And in loins with vengeance lined, That your needles could never find, Though they ran Through my heartstrings ! " Sing the vengeance of the Welshmen of Tirawley. " But, little your women's needles do I reck ; For the night from heaven never fell so black, But Tirawley, and abroad From the Moy to Cuan-an-fod, I could walk it every sod, Path and track, Ford and togher, , Seeking vengeance...