St. Johnstoun; or, John, earl of Gowrie [purporting to be ed. by Peregrine Rover, really written by E. Logan].

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For Maclachlan and Stewart, 1823
 

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Page 95 - He was a braw gallant, And he rid at the ring ; And the bonny Earl of Murray, Oh ! he might hae been a king. He was a braw gallant, And he play'd at the ba' ; And the bonny Earl of Murray, Was the flower amang them a'.
Page 167 - He was perfumed like a milliner, And 'twixt his finger and his thumb he held A pouncet-box, which ever and anon He gave his nose, and took't away again — Who therewith angry, when it next came there, Took it in snuff...
Page 36 - Behold also the ships, which, though they be so great, and are driven of fierce winds, yet are they turned about with a very small helm, whithersoever the governor listeth.
Page 49 - To every thing there is a season, and a time to every purpose under the heaven : A time to be born, and a time to die; A time to plant, and a time to pluck up that which is planted; A time to kill, and a time to heal ; A time to break down, and a time to build up ; A time to weep, and a time to laugh ; A time to mourn, and a time to dance...
Page 255 - Place me on some steep, craggy, ruin'd rock, " That bellies out, just dropping in the ocean ; " Bury me in the hollow of its womb, " Where, starving on my cold and flinty bed, " I may from far, with giddy apprehension, " See infinite fathoms down the rumbling deep ; " Yet not e'en there, in that vast whirl of death, " Can there be found so terrible a ruin " As man, false man, smiling, destructive man I
Page 100 - Cecial, was apt to use the most energetic word which came to hand, without accurately considering its propriety.) " I would give my share of the next prize but to hear her spout — Away, begone, and give a whirlwind room, Or I will blow you up like dust. — Avaunt ! Madness but meanly represents my rage.
Page 255 - scape that monster, let me dwell In lion's haunts, or in some tyger'a den, Place me on some steep, craggy, ruin'd rock, That bellies out, just dropping in the ocean: Bury me in the hollow of its womb: Where, starving on my cold and flinty bed, I may from far, with giddy apprehension, See infinite fathoms down the rumbling deep; Yet not...
Page 1 - OF all the monstrous passions and opinions which have crept into the world, there is none so wonderful as that those, who profess the common name of Christians, should pursue each other with rancour and hatred for differences in...
Page 35 - This therefore hath seemed good to me, that a man should eat and drink, and enjoy the fruit of his labor. . . and this is his portion; and (Wis. ii. 9): Let us everywhere leave tokens of joy, for this is our portion, and this is our lot.

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