ما يقوله الناس - كتابة مراجعة
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طبعات أخرى - عرض جميع المقتطفات
Aloud Augusta Batch BEAU Beesw better bring CÆSAR Caroline chest child CLAR Colonel comes CRAPE cross dear Dibbs Dick discovered Doct don't door doubt Enter Exit face Fanny father fear feel fellow Fitz GEORGE Gilb Gilbert girl give Godf Godfrey goes gone GRACE hand happy head hear heard heart honour hope hour I'll Isabel Jack Jacob JAMES keep kind king LADY laugh leave live London look lost madam Marg married master mean Melford mind Miss STRAWB morning never once pardon Patty poor pray present Queen SCENE SERVANT SOMER speak SPLASH sure tell TEMP Thank there's thing thought turn wager wife wish young
الصفحة 22 - My father urgit sair: my mother didna speak; But she look'd in my face till my heart was like to break : They gi'ed him my hand, but my heart was at the sea; Sae auld Robin Gray he was gudeman to me. I hadna been a wife a week but only four, When mournfu...
الصفحة 40 - But if she whom love doth honour Be conceal'd from the day, Set a thousand guards upon her, Love will find out the way.
الصفحة 5 - ... the matter be? Dear, dear! what can the matter be? Oh dear! what can the matter be?
الصفحة 22 - I'm fairly out of breath, and have said my say), The trouble and the rout, to wrap and get them out, When they drove to their lodgings in their one-horse chay.
الصفحة 21 - Mrs Bubb was gay and free, fair, fat, and forty-three, And blooming as a peony in buxom May ; The toast she long had been of Farringdon- Within, And fill'd the better-half of the one-horse chay.
الصفحة 21 - I never by chance hear the rattling of dice, that it doesn't sound to me like the funeral bell of a whole family. I see ; your master played a losing cast — he was a gamester 1 Lub.
الصفحة 22 - I am sartin, may be trusted gig or cart in, He takes every matter in an easy way ; He'll stand like a post, while we dabble on the coast, And return back to dress in our one-horse chay.
الصفحة 18 - When our crazy tents were raising ; — You may see where we have been ; Where we are — that is not seen. Where we are, — it is no place For a lazy foot to trace. Over heath and over field, He must scramble who would find us ; In the copse-wood close concealed, With a running brook behind us. Here we list no village clocks ; Livelier sound the farm-yard cocks, Crowing, crowing round about, AS if to point their roostings out ; And many a cock shall cease to crow, Or ere we from the copse-wood...