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Updated: June 29, 2025
But a rhymester wrote some words to a refrain, and the street retained the title of her royal highness, for "The princess, in a hurry, Without bell, priest, or beadle, But with some water only, Had baptized it." But to come back to Isidore.
And blest by the Gang Be the Rhymester who sang Their praises in doggrel appalling; More now were a sin Ho, waiters, begin! Each soul for consomme is calling! Godfrey Webb. 13 The Hon. Mrs. E. Bourke. 14 The Hon. Spencer Lyttelton. 15 The Hon. Graham Smith. 18 Lady Ribblesdale. 19 Mrs. Asquith. 20 Lord Ribblesdale. 21 The Hon. Alfred Lyttelton. 22 The Hon. St. A. G. Liddell. 25 Mr.
And yet, with all this self-styled unfitness for the pursuit, I was afterwards informed, that at his subsequent examination he displayed an amount of acquirement which surprised his fellow-students, who had scarcely any other association with him than that of a cheerful, crochety rhymester. It was about this period, that, going to call upon Mr.
Do you know any other friend of M. Fouquet?" "I know M. de la Fontaine very well." "La Fontaine, the rhymester?" "Yes; he used to write verses to my wife, when M. Fouquet was one of our friends." "Go to him, then, and try and procure an interview with the superintendent." "Willingly but the sum itself?"
He was asking for a job. What kind of job he didn't know. But he could write. He had been around the world. He was a cosmopolite and a rhymester and a press agent and a journalist. He pulled himself together and his eyes struggled hard to forget the hunger of his stomach.
That little girl, later the wife of Captain William Wilson, often told the story of her ride on pleasant James Cooper's shoulders. While never a rhymester, Cooper, in his early manhood and at rare times after, did write occasional sentimental and comic verses that betokened both clever imagination and other merit.
The attempts often ingeniously made to evade these restrictions by getting land in the names of relatives, servants, or agents are called "dummyism," and may be punished by imprisonment never inflicted by fines, and by forfeiture of the land "dummied." In 1891 a rhymester wrote in doggerel somewhat as follows of the experiences of a selector who "took up" a piece of Crown land
I wrote in the last sketch but one of the villager with a literary gift who composes the epitaphs in rhyme of his neighbours when they pass away and are buried in the churchyard. Undoubtedly there is a vast difference between the village rhymester and the true poet, and the poetry I am now concerned with may be said to come somewhat between these two extremes.
By and by, the voices of the feasters began again and we heard Pierre, the rhymester, chanting the song of the buffalo hunt: Now list to the song of the buffalo hunt, Which I, Pierre, the rhymester, chant of the brave! We are Bois-Brulés, Freemen of the plains, We choose our chief! We are no man's slave! Up, riders, up, ere the early mist Ascends to salute the rising sun!
He had such a stomach for a fight, had this irresponsible, irrepressible rhymester, that it mounted to the heights of passion with him, and when I mentioned, in answer to a hint dropped in connection with the edict, that I had the King's sanction for this combat, he was nearly mad with joy. "Blood of La Fosse!" was his oath. "The honour to stand by you shall be mine, my Bardelys!
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