Какво казват хората - Напишете рецензия
Не намерихме рецензии на обичайните места.
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baith Becauſe befoir beſt cauſe Chryſtis kirk cloſe counſell Diſpair doun Dreid dryve fair faſt feir ficht firſt frae furth fyre grene gude haif Haill hairt hame haſt heid heir himſelf juſt knaw laſt loſs loſt lyke maid mair Makyne maun micht mony moſt muſt myne neir nevir nocht o'er owre paſt Peblis pleaſe pleaſure Quha quhair Quhat Quhen Quhilk Quhyle quod Experience Quod Reaſon Quoth raiſe reſt richt Robene Roſe ſae ſaid ſair ſall ſame ſang ſaw ſay ſcho ſee ſeen ſene ſet ſhall ſhe ſhould ſome ſoon ſorrow ſoul ſound ſtand ſtate ſtay ſtill ſtrange ſtude ſuch ſuld ſum ſun Suppoſe ſweet ſweit thair thame thare Thay thee theſe thocht thoſe thou thouſand thow trew trow tyme uſe wald waſte weill Whilſt whoſe wiſh wyffe zour
Страница 154 - Well do I know thee by thy trusty yew, Cheerless, unsocial plant ; that loves to dwell 'Midst skulls and coffins, epitaphs and worms: Where light-heel'd ghosts, and visionary shades, Beneath the wan cold moon (as fame reports) Embodied, thick, perform their mystic rounds. No other merriment, dull tree, is thine.
Страница 142 - Strew'd with death's spoils, the spoils of animals, Savage and tame, and full of dead men's bones? The very turf on which we tread once liv'd ; And we that live must lend our carcasses To cover our own offspring : in their turns They too must cover theirs.
Страница 141 - In the world's hale and undegenerate days Could scarce have leisure for. Fools that we are ! Never to think of Death and of ourselves At the same time : as if to learn to die Were no concern of ours.
Страница 8 - Tane leif at nature with ane orient blast ; And lusty May, that muddir is of flouris, Had maid the birdis to begyn thair houris...
Страница 141 - See yonder maker of the dead man's bed, The sexton, hoary-headed chronicle! Of hard unmeaning face, down which ne'er stole A gentle tear; with mattock in his hand, Digs thro* whole rows of kindred and acquaintance, By far his juniors.
Страница 156 - Farewell, ye blooming fields ! ye cheerful plains ! Enough for me the church-yard's lonely mound, Where Melancholy with still Silence reigns, And the rank grass waves o'er the cheerless ground.
Страница 154 - midst the wreck of things which were; There lie interr'd the more illustrious dead. The wind is up: hark ! how it howls ! Methinks Till now, I never heard a sound so dreary...
Страница 151 - The rural pipe and merry lay No more shall cheer the happy day : No social scenes of gay delight Beguile the dreary winter night : No strains but those of sorrow flow, And...