John Heywood's new code readers. Standard 1-3, 5, 6

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Página 164 - Hurl'd headlong flaming from the ethereal sky, With hideous ruin and combustion, down To bottomless perdition ; there to dwell In adamantine chains and penal fire, Who durst defy the Omnipotent to arms.
Página 214 - Rip Van Winkle, however, was one of those happy mortals, of foolish, well-oiled dispositions, who take the world easy, eat white bread or brown, whichever can be got with least thought or trouble, and would rather starve on a penny than work for a pound.
Página 53 - With coral clasps and amber studs: And if these pleasures may thee move, Come live with me and be my love.
Página 132 - Twas at the royal feast for Persia won By Philip's warlike son : / Aloft in awful state ,,,••. , The godlike hero sate On his imperial throne...
Página 163 - How sweet the moonlight sleeps upon this bank! Here will we sit, and let the sounds of music Creep in our ears: soft stillness and the night Become the touches of sweet harmony. Sit, Jessica. Look how the floor of heaven Is thick inlaid with patines of bright gold: There's not the smallest orb which thou behold'st But in his motion like an angel sings, Still quiring to the young-eyed cherubins; Such harmony is in immortal souls; But whilst this muddy vesture of decay Doth grossly close it in, we...
Página 115 - But tell me further, said he, what thou discoverest on it. I see multitudes of people passing over it, said I, and a black cloud hanging on each end of it. As I looked more attentively, I saw several of the passengers dropping through the bridge, into the great tide that flowed underneath it ; and upon...
Página 53 - Embroider'd all with leaves of myrtle. A gown made of the finest wool, Which from our pretty lambs we pull, Fair lined slippers for the cold, With buckles of the purest gold.
Página 144 - I ran it through, even from my boyish days To the very moment that he bade me tell it; Wherein I spake of most disastrous chances, Of moving accidents by flood and field, Of hair-breadth 'scapes i...
Página 73 - And where are they? and where art thou, My country? On thy voiceless shore The heroic lay is tuneless now, The heroic bosom beats no more ! And must thy lyre, so long divine, Degenerate into hands like mine?
Página 215 - The moment Wolf entered the house, his crest fell, his tail drooped to the ground or curled between his legs, he sneaked about with a gallows air, casting many a sidelong glance at Dame Van Winkle, and at the least flourish of a broomstick or ladle, he would fly to the door with yelping precipitation.

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