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If any of you lack wisdom, let him cry To God, and he will give it lib'rally, And not upbraid. But let him ask in faith, Not wavering, for he that wavereth, Unto a wave o' th' sea I will compare, Driv'n with the wind and tossed here and there. For let not such a man himself deceive, To think that he shall from the Lord receive.
Thomas. "Whau, but I startit up to goa to th' tits, on slurr'd deawn to th' lower part o' th' heymough, on by th' maskins, lord! whot dust think? boh leet hump stridd'n up o' summot ot felt meety heury, on it startit weh meh on its back, deawn th' lower part o' th' mough it jumpt, crost th' leath, eaw't o' th' dur whimmey it took, on into th' weturing poo, os if th' dule o' hell had driv'n it, on there it threw meh en, or I fell off, I connaw tell whether, for th' life o' meh, into the poo."
As fishes flying from a dolphin. The rival bands of reapers mow the swathe. Showing the resistance and bravery of men. Why weeps Patroelus like an infant girl? From th' applauding ranks of Greece Rose a loud sound, as when the ocean wave, Driv'n by the south wind on some lofty beach, Dashes against a prominent crag expos'd To blasts from every storm that wars around.
As, to the Autumn breeze's bugle sound, Various and vague the dry leaves dance their round; Or, from the garner-door, on ether borne, The chaff flies devious from the winnow'd corn; So vague, so devious, at the breath of heaven, From their fix'd aim are mortal counsels driv'n. Anonymous.
Thus, like the crested bird of Mars, at home Engag'd in foul domestic jars, And wasted with intestine wars, Inglorious hadst thou spent thy vig'rous bloom; Had not sedition's civil broils Expell'd thee from thy native Crete, And driv'n thee with more glorious toils Th' Olympic crown in Pisa's plain to meet. West's Pindar.
Lightnings, that shew the vast and foamy deep, The rending thunders, as they onward roll, The loud, loud winds, that o'er the billows sweep Shake the firm nerve, appall the bravest soul! Ah! what avails the seamen's toiling care! The straining cordage bursts, the mast is riv'n; The sounds of terror groan along the air, Then sink afar; the bark on rocks is driv'n!
So driv'n, O Poland! from thy ravaged plains, So mourning o'er thy sad and but loved remains, A houseless wretch, I wander through the world, From friends, from greatness, and from glory hurl'd!
And albeit they all leade us with a common accord to despise povertie, and other accidental! crosses, to which I. iii. All to one place are driv'n, of all Shak't is the lot-pot, where-hence shall Sooner or later drawne lots fall, And to deaths boat for aye enthrall. And by consequence, if she makes us affeard, it is a continual subject of torment, and which can no way be eased. De Fin. I. iii.
Behold likewise the ships, which tho' they be Of mighty bulk, and thro' the raging sea Are driv'n by the strength of winds, yet they By a small helm the pilot's will obey. Ev'n so the tongue of man, which tho' it be But a small member, in a high degree It boasts of things. Behold, we may remark How great a matter's kindled by a spark.
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