A History of the City of Dublin, Volum 1

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McGlashan & Gill, 1854
 

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Passatges populars

Pàgina 137 - I speak in the spirit of the British law, which makes liberty commensurate with and inseparable from British soil ; which proclaims even to the stranger and sojourner, the moment he sets his foot upon British earth, that the ground on which he treads is holy, and consecrated by the Genius of UNIVERSAL EMANCIPATION.
Pàgina 138 - ... -,—no matter with what solemnities he may have been devoted upon the altar of slavery; the first moment he touches the sacred soil of Britain, the altar and the god sink together in the dust; his soul walks abroad in her own majesty; his body swells beyond the measure of his chains, that burst from around him, and he stands redeemed, regenerated, and disenthralled, by the irresistible Genius of UNIVERSAL EMANCIPATION.
Pàgina 141 - O keep my soul, and deliver me: let me not be ashamed; for I put my trust in thee.
Pàgina 352 - Reputation ever tearing, Ever dearest friendship swearing ; Judgment weak, and passion strong; Always various, always wrong ; Provocation never waits, Where he loves, or where he hates ; Talks whate'er comes in his head, Wishes it were all unsaid. Let me now the vices trace From the father's scoundrel race. Who could give the looby such airs ! Were they masons, were they butchers?
Pàgina 247 - I will endeavour, as much as lies in my ability, to forward a brotherhood of affection, an identity of interests, a communion of rights, and an union of power, among Irishmen of all religious persuasions, without which every reform in parliament must be partial, not national, inadequate to the wants, delusive to the wishes, and insufficient for the freedom and happiness of this country.
Pàgina 222 - Quin, forget thee there. His words bore sterling weight, nervous and strong In manly tides of sense they roll'd along. Happy in art, he chiefly had pretence To keep up numbers, yet not forfeit sense.
Pàgina 271 - You're in the wrong box, then,' says I, 'For blast me if they're so hard-hearted; A chalk on the back of your neck Is all that Jack Ketch dares to give you; Then mind not such trifles a feck, For why should the likes of them grieve you? And now, boys, come tip us the deck.

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