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Страница 60 - Marry, then, sweet wag, when thou art king, let not us, that are squires of the night's body, be called thieves of the day's beauty : let us be Diana's foresters, gentlemen of the shade, minions of the moon ; and let men say, we be men of good government, being governed as the sea is, by our noble and chaste mistress the moon, under whose countenance we steal.
Страница 82 - Gar warn the water, braid and wide, Gar warn it sune and hastilie ! They that winna ride for Telfer's kye, Let them never look in the face o...
Страница 62 - When the devil was sick, the devil a monk would be, When the devil was well, the devil a monk was he.
Страница xx - There was nothing very uncommon about his dress. He usually wore an old slouched hat when he went abroad ; and when at home a sort of cowl or night-cap. He never wore shoes, being unable to adapt them to his misshapen fin-like feet, but always had both feet and legs quite concealed, and wrapt up with pieces of cloth.
Страница 66 - Their swords are a thousand, their bosoms are one ! They are true to the last of their blood and their breath, And like reapers descend to the harvest of death. Then welcome be Cumberland's steed to the shock...
Страница 316 - We looked for peace, but no good came; and for a time of health, and behold trouble!
Страница 316 - The snorting of his horses was heard from Dan: the whole land trembled at the sound of the neighing of his strong ones; for they are come, and have devoured the land, and all that is in it; the city, and those that dwell therein.
Страница 240 - No newly-erected tomb disturbs the sober serenity of our reflections by reminding us of recent calamity, and no rank-springing grass forces upon our imagination the recollection, that it owes its dark luxuriance to the foul and festering remnants of mortality which ferment beneath. The daisy which sprinkles the sod, and the harebell which hangs over it, derive their pure nourishment from the dew of heaven, and their growth impresses us with no degrading or disgusting recollections. Death has indeed...
Страница xviii - ... poor unfortunate • man's name was David Ritchie, a native of Tweeddale. He was the son of a labourer in the slate-quarries of Stobo, and must have been born in the mis-shapen form which he exhibited, though he sometimes imputed it to ill-usage when in infancy. He was bred a brush-maker at Edinburgh, and had wandered to several places, working at his trade, from all which he was chased by the disagreeable attention which his hideous singularity of form and face attracted wherever he came.