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Updated: May 6, 2025
This will make them loathsome in his sight, and cause his soul abhor those who have done this despite unto the Spirit of grace, as to slight that blessed fountain, opened for sin and for uncleanness, let them pretend as high as they will, to look to him as a pattern; while, because the plague-sore is gone up in their eye, they look not to him as a price, nor to the grace of Jesus Christ, as that which can only principle any acceptable performance of duty, he will plunge them in the ditch, and it will cost them their souls, for rejecting the counsel of God against themselves, in not making use of him who came by water as well as by blood.
I remember Prudence screaming, and telling me I had the plague, and the unutterable horror that filled me when I heard it; and then the next thing I recollect is, being at the plague-pit, and seeing your face and his bending over me. All the horror came back with that awakening, and between it and anguish of the plague-sore I think I fainted again."
Whatsoever thwarts, or puts me out of my way, brings death into my mind. All partial evils, like humours, run into that capital plague-sore. I have heard some profess an indifference to life. Such hail the end of their existence as a port of refuge; and speak of the grave as of some soft arms, in which they may slumber as on a pillow.
In the background the lapidation of the condemned." "St. Rochus sitting in a landscape with an angel who looks at his plague-sore, whilst the dog the bread in his mouth attents him." "Spring. The Goddess Flora, sitting. Behind her a fertile valley perfused by a river." "A beautiful bouquet animated by May-bugs, etc."
In the background the lapidation of the condemned." "St. Rochus sitting in a landscape with an angel who looks at his plague-sore, whilst the dog the bread in his mouth attents him." "Spring. The Goddess Flora, sitting. Behind her a fertile valley perfused by a river." "A beautiful bouquet animated by May-bugs, etc."
The other utterance which is fit to be matched with Shakspere's was written by Charles Lamb. "Whatsoever thwarts or puts me out of my way brings death into my mind. All partial evils, like humours, run into that capital plague-sore. I have heard some profess an indifference to life.
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