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Updated: May 9, 2025
The deacon stopped and said, "Is't out? is't out?" "Gang your ways home," quo' I very coolly, "for I hae a notion that a' this hobleshow's but the fume of a gill in your friend Robin's head." "It's no possible!" exclaimed the deacon.
"Have you met any naked savages since you left your distant country?" asked one of the sports, with a wink at his comrade. "Naked savages, is't, you mean? Ay, that I hae, or nearly naked anes," was the quick reply.
'Weel, said the Deacon to Mrs. Mac-Candlish, as he accepted her offer of a glass of bitters at the bar, 'the deil's no sae ill as he's ca'd. It's pleasant to see a gentleman pay the regard to the business o' the county that Mr. Glossin does. 'Ay, 'deed is't, Deacon, answered the landlady; 'and yet I wonder our gentry leave their ain wark to the like o' him.
And Joseph coming early the next day, Into the room where Pharaoh's servants lay, Beheld their countenances much dejected: Wherefore he said, What evil hath effected This melancholy frame, what is't that causes These marks of discontentment in your faces? Then said they, We have dream'd each man his dream, And there is no man to interpret them. Then Joseph said, Your dreams to me make known.
I think that that, in conjunction with his betrayal of his trust that night at Newlington's, thereby causing the death of some twenty gallant fellows of King James's, will be enough to hang him." Her hand clutched at her heart. "What is't you seek?" she cried. It was almost a moan. "What is't you want of me?" "Yourself," said he. "I love you, Ruth," he added, and stepped close up to her.
Is't known to ye, O gabblers, aught of the punishment inflicted by Shahpesh, the Persian, on Khipil, the Builder? a punishment that, by Allah! Shibli Bagarag said, 'How of that punishment, O Vizier? And the Vizier narrated as followeth. They relate that Shahpesh, the Persian, commanded the building of a palace, and Khipil was his builder.
'Weel, said the Deacon to Mrs. Mac-Candlish, as he accepted her offer of a glass of bitters at the bar, 'the deil's no sae ill as he's ca'd. It's pleasant to see a gentleman pay the regard to the business o' the county that Mr. Glossin does. 'Ay, 'deed is't, Deacon, answered the landlady; 'and yet I wonder our gentry leave their ain wark to the like o' him.
No hurry for them that has choice. Christy. That has money, you mane, jewel. Mr. Gilbert, you did not give us your toast. Gilb. Your good health, ma'am your good health, sir, Mr. Hope, your good health, and your fireside in Scotland, and in pa'tic'lar your good wife. Why, sir, is't possible you're a married man, after all? Mr. H. Very possible, ma'am thank Heaven and my gude Kate.
What mischief is't ye hatch, my lord?" "Mis mischief, my love?" He smiled propitiatingly hating her more than ever in that moment. He had stuffed the letter into an inner pocket of his coat, and but that she had another matter to concern her at the moment she would not have allowed the question she had asked to be so put aside. But this other matter upon her mind touched her very closely.
"Though Beautie be the Marke of praise, And yours of whom I sing be such As not the world can praise too much, Yet is't your vertue now I raise." Here again we see that our literature of to-day is no new born thing, but rooted in the past. Jonson's poem, however, is a mere trifle, Tennyson's one of the great things of our literature.
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