The king's son, ed. [or rather, written] by mrs. Hofland1843 |
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The King's Son, Ed. [Or Rather, Written] by Mrs. Hofland Barbara Hofland Pré-visualização indisponível - 2015 |
Palavras e frases frequentes
answered arms arrived asked Betsy Bishop bosom caliver chamber cried Dean door dost drew Duchess of Burgundy Duke of York Duke's Earl exclaimed eyes face fair fair lady Father Comley fear feet force Forrest friends gaoler glance hand heard heart Henry Henry Tudor Herne highness horse host hour house of York John Dighton Katherine king lady length liege look Lord Audley Lord D'Aubigney Master Dighton Master Skelton mind murder night notwithstanding numbers observed passage passed pause Perkin Warbeck person priest prince proceeded raised rapier rejoined rendered replied Dighton replied Mary replied Sir James replied Skelton replied the Duke resumed retired returned Richard Plantagenet road round scarcely seemed seized side silence Sir James Tyrrel Sir John Digby Sir John Egremont sire smile speak spoke steps thee thither thou thought tion tone Tower turned utterance voice Walter whispered Yorkist
Passagens conhecidas
Página 81 - I closed my lids, and kept them close, And the balls like pulses beat; For the sky and the sea, and the sea and the sky, Lay like a load on my weary eye, And the dead were at my feet.
Página 163 - Not mine own fears, nor the prophetic soul Of the wide world dreaming on things to come, Can yet the lease of my true love control, Supposed as forfeit to a confined doom.
Página 193 - With Spanish yew so strong, Arrows a cloth-yard long, That like to serpents stung, Piercing the weather; None from his fellow starts, But playing manly parts, And like true English hearts, Stuck close together.
Página 286 - Come away, come away, death, And in sad cypress let me be laid ; Fly away, fly away, breath ; I am slain by a fair cruel maid. My shroud of white, stuck all with yew, O, prepare it ! My part of death, no one so true Did share it. Not a flower, not a flower sweet, On my black coffin let there be strown ; Not a friend, not a friend greet My poor corpse, where my bones shall be thrown : A thousand thousand sighs to save, Lay me, O, where Sad true lover never find my grave, To weep there ! Duke.
Página 200 - O shrieve me, shrieve me, holy man!" The Hermit crossed his brow. "Say quick," quoth he, "I bid thee say — What manner of man art thou?
Página 225 - My soul is athirst for GOD, yea, even for the living GOD: when shall I come to appear before the presence of GOD...
Página 71 - They closed full fast on every side, No slackness there was found; And many a gallant gentleman Lay gasping on the ground.
Página 105 - And he pull'd forth three bagges of gold, And layd them down upon the bord: All woe begone was John o' the Scales, Soe shent he cold say never a word. He told him forth the good red gold, He told it forth with mickle dinne. The gold is thine, the land is mine, And now Ime againe the lord of Linne.
Página 299 - Then she congratulates his many courtesies, in continuance of which she desires him to be a mediator for her to the king, in behalf of the marriage propounded between them, who...
Página 288 - The old countess of Desmond, who had danced with Richard, declared he was the handsomest man in the room except his brother Edward, and was very well made.