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Updated: May 16, 2025
I shook with fear at such a romantick promise, and began more intensively to view the old woman: Upon which, she cry'd out, "O Enothea, be as good as your word"; when, carefully wiping her hands, she lay down on the bed, and half smother'd me with kisses.
At last also even Gito laught for company, at what time the young wench flung her arms about his neck, and meeting no resistance, half smother'd him with kisses.
'Malo me Galatea petit, lasciva puella. 'My Phillis me with pelted apples plies. DRYDEN. Virgil, Eclogues, iii. 64. 'The helpless traveller, with wild surprise, Sees the dry desert all around him rise, And smother'd in the dusty whirlwind dies. Cato act ii. sc. 6. Johnson seems unwilling to believe this.
Light griefs break forth, and easily get vent, Great ones are through amazement closely pent. At length, my muse, not bearing to be any longer mute, broke forth in the following Who died the 14th of the Twelfth Month, 1662. And thus she introduceth it: How long shall Grief lie smother'd? ah! how long Shall Sorrow's signet seal my silent tongue?
It was horrible, if barrenness and danger could be so. I heard him, after we were in the house of Breacacha, repeating to himself, as he walked about the room, "And smother'd in the dusty whirlwind, dies." Probably he had been thinking of the whole of the simile in Cato, of which that is the concluding line; the sandy desart had struck him so strongly.
These mix and Cohabit together with the utmost freedom, and the Chilldren who are so unfortunate as to be thus begot are smother'd at the Moment of their Birth; many of these People contract intimacies and live together as man and wife for years, in the course of which the Children that are born are destroy'd.
It was horrible, if barrenness and danger could be so. I heard him, after we were in the house of Breacacha, repeating to himself, as he walked about the room, 'And smother'd in the dusty whirlwind, dies . Probably he had been thinking of the whole of the simile in Cato, of which that is the concluding line; the sandy desart had struck him so strongly.
Clambering the walls to eye him: stalls, bulks, windows, Are smother'd up, leads fill'd, and ridges horsed With variable complexions; all agreeing In earnestness to see him: seld-shown flamens Do press among the popular throng, and puff To win a vulgar station: our veil'd dames Commit the war of white and damask, in Their nicely-gawded cheeks to the wanton spoil Of Phoebus' burning kisses: such a pother, As if that whatsoever god, who leads him, Were slyly crept into his human powers, And gave him graceful posture.
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