George Crabbe: a Biography

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Joseph Buck, 1865 - 76 pages
 

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Page 54 - Theirs is yon House that holds the parish poor, Whose walls of mud scarce bear the broken door; There, where the putrid vapours, flagging, play, And the dull wheel hums doleful through the day; There children dwell who know no parents' care; Parents, who know no children's love, dwell there!
Page 48 - When the ear heard him, then it blessed him: and when the eye saw him, it gave witness to him. Because he delivered the poor that cried, and the fatherless, and him that had none to help him. The blessing of him that was ready to perish came upon him; and he caused the widow's heart to sing for joy.
Page 75 - We can do nothing without the blue stockings ; ' and thus by degrees the title was established.
Page 53 - Where the thin harvest waves its wither'd ears; Rank weeds, that every art and care defy, Reign o'er the land and rob the blighted rye : There thistles stretch their prickly arms afar, And to the ragged infant threaten war ; There poppies nodding, mock the hope of toil...
Page 73 - That for old clothes they'd even axe St. Mary ; And bucks with pockets empty as their pate, Lax in their gaiters, laxer in their gait ; Who oft, when we our house lock up, carouse With tippling tipstaves in a lock-up house. Yet here, as elsewhere, Chance can joy bestow Where scowling fortune seem'd to threaten woe. John Richard William Alexander Dwyer Was footman to Justinian Stubbs, Esquire ; But when John Dwyer listed in the Blues, Emanuel Jennings polished Stubbs's shoes ; Emanuel Jennings brought...
Page 66 - I'll have my grave beneath a hill, Where only Lucy's self shall know, Where runs the pure pellucid rill Upon its gravelly bed below : There violets on the borders blow, And insects their soft light display, Till, as the morning sunbeams glow, The cold phosphoric fires decay. That is the grave to Lucy shown, The soil a pure and silver sand ; The green cold moss above it grown, Unpluck'd of all but maiden hand. In...
Page 53 - There Poppies nodding, mock the hope of toil, There the blue Bugloss paints the sterile soil ; Hardy and high, above the slender sheaf, The slimy Mallow waves her silky leaf; O'er the young shoot the Charlock throws a shade, And clasping Tares cling round the sickly blade...
Page 73 - Silence !' hoots, Is apt to make the hubbub he imputes. What various swains our motley walls contain ! — Fashion from Moorfields, honour from Chick Lane; Bankers from Paper Buildings here resort, Bankrupts from Golden Square and Riches Court; From the Haymarket canting rogues in grain, Gulls from the Poultry, sots from Water Lane; The...
Page 74 - but one won't make a line." " Take mine," cried Wilson, and cried Stokes, "Take mine." A motley cable soon Pat Jennings ties, Where Spitalfields with real India vies. Like Iris...
Page 54 - Ah! no; a shepherd of a different stock, And far unlike him, feeds this little flock: A jovial youth, who thinks his Sunday's task As much as God or man can fairly ask; The rest he gives to loves and labours light, To fields the morning, and to feasts the night; None better...

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