(Written in the last reign.)
#EnglishWriters
Come, my little Robert, near— Fie! what filthy hands are here— Who that e’er could understand The rare structure of a hand, With its branching fingers fine,
In your garb and outward clothing A reservëd plainness use; By their neatness more distinguish… Than the brightness of their hues. All the colours in the rainbow
JANE. Miss Lydia every day is drest Better than I am in my best White cambric—muslin frock. I wish I had one made of clear
In a stage—coach, where late I ch… A little quiet girl my notice caug… I saw she looked at nothing by the… Her mind seemed busy on some child… I with an old man’s courtesy addre…
I have taught your young lips the… Which form the petition we call th… And now let me help my dear child… The meaning of all the good words… ‘Our Father,’—the same appellatio…
A little child, who had desired To go and see the Park guns fired… Was taken by his maid that way Upon the next rejoicing day. Soon as the unexpected stroke
Whether beneath sweet beds of rose… As foolish little Ann supposes, The spirit of a babe reposes Before it to the body come; Or, as philosophy more wise
When the arts in their infancy wer… In a fable of old ‘tis exprest, A wise magpie constructed that rar… Little house for young birds, call… This was talked of the whole count…
I HAVE had playmates, I have ha… In my days of childhood, in my joy… All, all are gone, the old familia… I have been laughing, I have been… Drinking late, sitting late, with…
Roi’s wife of Brunswick Oëls! Roi’s wife of Brunswick Oëls! Wot you how she came to him, While he supinely dreamt of no ill… Vow! but she is a canty Queen,
To operas and balls my cousins tak… And fond of plays my new—made frie… In summer season, when the days ar… In my godmother’s coach I take th… My uncle has a stately pleasure ba…
Anger in its time and place May assume a kind of grace. It must have some reason in it, And not last beyond a minute. If to further lengths it go,
Arrayed—a half angelic sight— In nests of pure baptismal white, The mother to the font doth bring The little, helpless, nameless thi… With hushes soft, and mild caressi…
A child’s a plaything for an hour; Its pretty tricks we try For that or for a longer space; Then tire, and lay it by. But I knew one, that to itself
Mystery of God! thou brave & beau… Made fair with light, & shade, & s… Made fearful and august with woods… Jagg’d precipice, black mountain,… Sun, over all—that no co—rival own…