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Updated: June 28, 2025
You are at Buerglen, in the land of Uri, Just at the entrance of the Sheckenthal. Are you alone? Your husband, is he here? HEDWIG. I momently expect him. But what ails you? You look as one whose soul is ill at ease. Whoe'er you be, you are in want; take that. MONK. Howe'er my sinking heart may yearn for food, I will take nothing till you've promised me
You are interested About the cause; and with your hearts you follow Your banners. Among you whoe'er deserts To the enemy hath broken covenant With two lords at one time. We've no such fancies. WRANGEL. Great God in heaven! Have then the people here No house and home, no fireside, no altar?
Dolly stood a minute, her hands clasped, her eyes wandering about with a thoughtful far away gaze. "It's all gone," she said at last; "I can't remember it, only a line: "Sleep sweetly in this quiet room, oh, thou, whoe'er thou art; Nor let a troublous something or other disturb thy peaceful heart. "Honest, that's all I can remember." "Well, that's enough.
Then the damsels floated on. "Was ever queen more enigmatical?" cried Media "Love, death, joy, fly to me? But what says Taji?" "That I turn not back for Hautia; whoe'er she be, that wild witch I contemn." "Then spread our pinions wide! a breeze! up sails! ply paddles all! Come, Flora's flute, float forth a song."
Coleridge, in the summer of 1797 presented me with an extract from his "Osorio," which is here given to the reader, from Mr. C.'s own writing. Scene, Spain. Now blessings on the man, whoe'er he be, That joined your names with mine!
It will drive away the melancholy day-dreams that haunt you. Perhaps some future bride is even now waiting for you, with dim presentiments and undefined longings, at the Serpent's Bath." "Or some widow of Ems, with a cork-leg!" said Flemming, smiling; and then added, in a toneof voice half jest, half earnest, "Certainly; let us go in pursuit of her; `Whoe'er she be, That not impossible she,
Whoe'er would rescue you, and call you his, Must boldly dare affront e'en death itself! MARY. Will he do nothing for me? MORTIMER. Speak not of him. What can he do? What need have we of him? I will release you; I alone. MARY. Alas! What power have you?
To clinch the cause, and fuel add to fire, Behind came Hamilton, his trusty squire: Awhile he paus'd, revolving the disgrace, And gath'ring all the honours of his face; Then rais'd his head, and, turning to the crowd, Burst into bellowing, terrible and loud: 'Hear my resolve; and first by I swear, By Smollet, and his gods, whoe'er shall date With him this day for glorious fame to vie, Sous'd in the bottom of the ditch shall lie; And know, the world no other shall confess, While I have crab-tree, life, or letter-press. Scar'd at the menace, authors fearful grew, Poor Virtue trembled, and e'en Vice look'd blue."
TELL. 'Tis early practice only makes the master. HEDWIG. Ah! Would to heaven they never learnt the art! TELL. But they shall learn it, wife, in all its points. Whoe'er would carve an independent way Through life must learn to ward or plant a blow. HEDWIG. Alas, alas! and they will never rest Contentedly at home. TELL. No more can I! I was not framed by nature for a shepherd.
How ironically the kindly old words used to come floating to me out of Shakespeare each evening as the shadows fell, and the lights came out in the windows "to take mine ease at mine inn;" and assuredly it was on another planet that Shenstone wrote: Whoe'er hath travelled life's dull round, Whate'er his fortunes may have been, Must sigh to think he still has found His warmest welcome at an inn.
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