OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Proclamation 6388

Delivered on 4 December 1991.
By the President of the United States of America A Proclamation
1. Pursuant to sections 501 and 502 of the Trade Act of 1974, as amended (the 1974 Act) (19 U.S.C. 2461 and 2462), and having due regard for the eligibility criteria set forth therein, I have determined that it is appropriate to designate Bulgaria as a beneficiary developing country for purposes of the Generalized System of Preferences (GSP).
2. Section 604 of the 1974 Act (19 U.S.C. 2483) authorizes the President to embody in the Harmonized Tariff Schedule of the United States (HTS) the substance of the provisions of that Act, and of other Acts affecting import treatment, and the actions thereunder.
Now, Therefore, I, George Bush, President of the United States of America, acting under the authority vested in me by the Constitution and the laws of the United States of America, including but not limited to Title V and section 604 of the 1974 Act, do proclaim that:
(1) General note 3(c)(ii)(A) to the HTS, listing those countries whose products are eligible for benefits of the GSP, is modified by inserting "Bulgaria" in alphabetical order in the enumeration of independent countries.
(2) Any provisions of previous proclamations and Executive orders inconsistent with the provisions of this proclamation are hereby superseded to the extent of such inconsistency.
(3) The amendment made by this proclamation shall be effective with respect to articles both: (i) imported on or after January 1, 1976, and (ii) entered, or withdrawn from warehouse for consumption, on or after 15 days after the date of publication of this proclamation in the Federal Register.
In Witness Whereof, I have hereunto set my hand this fourth day of December, in the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and ninety-one, and of the Independence of the United States of America the two hundred and sixteenth.
George Bush
[Filed with the Office of the Federal Register, 4:18 p.m., December 4, 1991]
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Proclamation 6385

Delivered on 2 December 1991.
By the President of the United States of America A Proclamation
Each day, thousands of hardworking men and women bring vital home health care services to Americans who are incapacitated by illness, age, or disability. Working in association with more than 12,000 home care agencies across the country, these dedicated professionals and volunteers play an important part in our Nation's total health care system. This week, we honor them for their many contributions.
The administrators and employees of home health care agencies work closely with government agencies and with concerned private organizations, including hospitals, to give patients a welcome alternative to institutionalized care. Home care not only emphasizes the dignity, comfort, and independence of patients but also affirms the importance of family love and support to their well-being. By enabling clients to prevent or to postpone costly hospital stays and other forms of inpatient care, home care has often proved to be economical, as well.
Thousands of nurses, therapists, social workers, and others provide our Nation's home care services, and each of them deserves our recognition and thanks. Their professionalism and compassion are making a real difference in the lives of Americans in need.
To increase public awareness of and support for our Nation's home care agencies, the Congress, by House Joint Resolution 175, has designated the weeks beginning December 1, 1991, and November 29, 1992, as "National Home Care Week" and has authorized and requested the President to issue a proclamation in observance of these weeks.
Now, Therefore, I, George Bush, President of the United States of America, do hereby proclaim the weeks of December 1 through December 7, 1991, and November 29 through December 5, 1992, as National Home Care Week. I encourage all Americans—as well as government officials, health and social service providers, insurance companies, and private voluntary organizations—to observe these weeks with appropriate programs and activities.
In Witness Whereof, I have hereunto set my hand this second day of December, in the year of our Lord nineteen hundred and ninety-one, and of the Independence of the United States of America the two hundred and sixteenth.
George Bush
[Filed with the Office of the Federal Register, 1:44 p.m., December 2, 1991]
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Presidential Weekly Address - 11 February 2012

Weekly address delivered on 11 February 2012.
THE PRESIDENT: Hello, everybody.
In recent weeks, we’ve seen signs that our economy is growing stronger and creating jobs at a faster clip. While numbers and figures will go up and down in the coming months, what cannot waver is our resolve to do everything in our power to keep stoking the fires of the recovery. And the last thing we should do is let Washington stand in the way. You see, at the end of the month, taxes are set to go up on 160 million working Americans. If you’re one of them, then you know better than anyone that the last thing you need right now is a tax hike. But if Congress refuses to act, middle class taxes will go up. It’s that simple.
Now, if this sounds familiar, it’s because we’ve been here before. Back in December, Congress faced this exact same predicament. Ultimately, thanks to your voices, they did the right thing, but only after a great deal of bickering and political posturing that put the strength of our economy and the security of middle class families at risk. We can’t go through that again.
Congress needs to stop this middle class tax hike from happening. Period. No drama. No delay. And no ideological side issues that have nothing to do with this tax cut. Now is not the time for self-inflicted wounds to our recovery. Now is the time for common-sense action. And this tax cut is common-sense. If you’re a family making about $50,000 a year, this tax cut amounts to about $1,000 a year. That’s about $40 in every paycheck. I know there are some folks in this town who think $40 isn’t a lot of money. But to a student or a senior who’s trying to stretch the budget a little bit further? To a parent who’s filling up the tank and looking at rising gas prices? To them, $40 can make all the difference in the world.
And so can your voice. I hope you’ll pick up the phone, send a tweet, write an email, and tell your representative that they should get this done before it gets too late. Tell them not to play politics again by linking this debate to unrelated issues. Tell them not to manufacture another needless standoff or crisis. Tell them not to stand in the way of the recovery. Tell them to just do their job. That’s what our middle class needs. That’s what our country needs. In the wake of the worst economic crisis of our lifetimes, we’re getting things going again. And we’re going to keep at it until everyone shares in America’s comeback.
Thanks, and have a great weekend.
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it is a work of the United States federal government (see 17 U.S.C. 105).
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3808/Love's Logic

LOVE'S LOGIC.
# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3808/The Emergency Exit

THE EMERGENCY EXIT.
Scene—A Tight Place.}}
Child Herbert (to "Wicked Baron"). "MY LORD, I HAVE EVER REGARDED YOU AS A PESTILENT VILLAIN—NAY WORSE, AN HEREDITARY IMBECILE. I THEREFORE RELY ON YOUR BENEFICENT WISDOM TO FIND ME A WAY OUT OF THIS SINISTER WOOD."
# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3808/Progress

PROGRESS.
["Giving evidence recently before a Select Committee of the House of Commons, Miss C. E. Collet, of the Home Office, said the commercial laundry was killing the small hand laundry."—Evening News.]
The little crafts! How soon they die! In cottage doors no shuttle clicks; The hand-loom has been ousted by A large concern with lots more sticks.
The throb of pistons beats around; Great chimneys rise on Thames's banks; The same phenomena are found In Sheffield (Yorks) and Oldham (Lancs).
No longer now the housewife makes Her rare preserves, for what's the good? The factory round the corner fakes Raspberry jam with chips of wood.
'Tis so with what we eat and wear, Our bread, the boots wherein we splosh; "Tis so with what I deemed most fair, Most virginal of all—the Wash.
'Tis this that chiefly, when I chant, Fulfils my breast with sighs of ruth, To think that engines can supplant The Amazons I loved in youth.
That not with tender care, as erst By spinster females fancy-free, These button-holes of mine get burst Before the shift comes back to me;
That mere machines, and not a maid With fingers fatuously plied, The collars and the cuffs have frayed That still excoriate my hide;
That steam reduces to such states What once was marred by human skill; That socks are sundered from their mates By means of an electric mill;
That not by Cupid's coy advance (Some crone conniving at the fraud), But simply by mechanic chance, I get this handkerchief marked "Maud."
This is, indeed, a striking change; I sometimes wonder if the world Gets better as the skies grow strange With coils of smoke about them curled.
If the old days were not the best Ere printed formulas conveyed Sorrow about that silken vest For all eternity mislaid;
Ere yet the unwieldy motor-van Came clattering round the kerbstone's brink, Its driver dreaming some new plan To make my mauve pyjamas shrink.
Evoe.
# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3808/Rus in Urbe

RUS IN URBE.
No, this is not the Russian ballet. It is the English Folk Dance Society, and their performances at the Royal Horticultural Hall at Westminster the other day showed that the Russian ballet is not to have things all its own way. I am not going to moralise upon the salacious quality of some of the themes of our exotic visitors, but certainly it would be difficult to find a stronger contrast to their ruling passion than is presented by the purity and simplicity of these country dances.
"Sellinger's Round," danced to an air that lulled Titania to sleep all through the winter at the Savoy, was the most popular, with its ring of a dozen dancers, hands joined, running together into the centre of their circle, as if to honour some imaginary deity—possibly Mr. Cecil Sharp, director of the Society, who has col-lected and revived the airs to which they dance.
Then there were the Morris-dances, "Shepherd's Hey" (with nothing about a "nonny-nonny" in it), and "Haste to the Wedding." There might perhaps be a greater propriety in the latter if it were confined to men; but at least it raised no apprehension that anybody was going to "repent at leisure." In the "Flamborough Sword" dance, the men (with no Amazon assistance) raced through the figure and out again, eight of them, armed with bloodless wooden swords—a finely ordered riot.
"Lady's Pleasure," a Morris-jig for two men, lays hold of you at the first bar, and again with a fresh grip and a tighter as the music slows up for the dancers to do their "capers "—all to the music of Mr. Cecil Sharp at the piano and Miss Avril at the fiddle.
The object of The English Folk Dance Society is to teach rather than to perform in public. Hence the rarity of their displays, and the better reason why we should seize, when they come, our chances of assisting at these delightful exhibitions of an art whose revival has done so much to restore to the countryside the unpretentious joys that gave its name to Merrie England.
# Punch/Volume 147/Issue 3808/The Collectors

THE COLLECTORS.
My dinner partner was a self-made man and not ashamed of it.
"Do you take an interest in china, ma'am?" he asked me.
I felt that if I said "Yes" I should have to buy some. So I said "No," but he didn't wait to hear what I said.
"I think I may say," he continued, "that I have the finest collection of old Dresden china in London."
He went into the figures, explaining the cost price and the difficulty of storage.
"Oh," said I, "if you find it a nuisance, I've a parlour-maid I could recommend to you; just the girl to help you to get rid of it."
At this point I think he had some idea of having the finest collection of parlourmaids in Middlesex, but he made it small dogs instead. Was I interested in these? No, but I supposed I'd have to be if he insisted.
"I don't think I should be far wrong," he began, but I hustled him through to the end of his sentence.
"Finest collection in—?" I asked.
"England," he said.
He went over their points, and in an expansive moment I marvelled. This was imprudent, as it caused him to search his mind for some further spectacular triumph wherewith to amaze and delight.
"That," he said, looking up the table, "is my wife."
"Marvellous," said I.
He took this in the best part. "You refer to her diamonds?" he said.
"Did I?" said I.
"The finest collection in Great Britain," he declared, and spread himself over the subject.
Later, in a mood of concession, he inquired as to my specialities. I had none, at least none that I could think of. Determined to extract something noteworthy, he questioned me on every possibility. Was I not married? That was so, I agreed, but then so many women are.
"You have sons, ma'am?" he persisted, with that implacable optimism to which, among other things, he no doubt owed his success in the world.
I thought of Baby. "Ah yes, of course," I said. "The finest collection in Europe."
# Potiphar's Wife and Other Poems/Durch den Wald

DURCH DEN WALD
(From the German of the Queen of Roumania.)
Through the forest there fluttered a song Upborne upon airy gay wings; As the breeze lisps the beech-boughs among So softly it lit on my strings: And my harp told the River again: And the trees and the birds caught the strain: And the flow'rs set up soft whisperings.
Through the forest came loitering Love: There was budding and blooming at this: The birds woke, with welcome, the grove And the rocks and the springs felt the bliss; It seemed 'twould be sunshine forever As the sun shed red gold on the River While the waves and the bank-buds did kiss.
​Through the forest a tempest 'gan roar, Song and Love in its fury it caught, And both to the far Sea it bore, So an end to our singing was brought! And the River went silently by, And the gold melted out of the sky, And the talk of the birds came to naught!
# Potiphar's Wife and Other Poems/A Picture

A PICTURE
(From the German of the Queen of Roumania.)
Sits upon the splintered summit Swathed in tempest, by a black gulf, Wondrous beautiful, a Woman— Large and strong her body's lines are As she leans upon the rock At the crag's edge lightly swaying: One knee rests across the other Balanced, and, with fingers clenched, In her hand she grasps a serpent, Careless how the monstrous creature Twines and coils, and shoots its fork forth Helpless that white grip to loosen, Helpless to escape her fingers. Red her hair is; like to flame-tongues Stream amid the storm its tresses, ​Float into the clouds and capture The chain-lightning as it falls, Drawing through its skeins those flashes Which glide harmless down her body, But, beneath her, split a pine-tree From its topmost bough to foot. And the eyes of this wild woman, In the light which flickers purple Bound and round the summit, glitter Green beneath great brows of black.
# Potiphar's Wife and Other Poems/A Song

OTHER POEMS
A SONG
Once—and only once—you gave One rich gift, which Memory Shuts within itself, to save Sweet and fresh, while life may be: Shuts it like a rose-leaf treasured In the pages of a book, Which we open, when heart-leisured, Now and then—softly to look.
If I told you of that gift How and when, the tend'ring of it, Would you, out of rose-leaf thrift, Claim from me the rend'ring of it? That might make it two for one ('Twas of such unwonted kind!) Half a mind I have to tell you Not to tell you half a mind.
# Potiphar's Wife and Other Poems/"Sayonara"

"SAYONARA."
Which word, of all the words for parting made, Seems best to say, and sweetest, being said? Which holds most tenderness, and least despair, And lingers longest in the loved one's ear? O Yoshi San! O Fuku San! when we Must say "Good-by," shall that the last word be, Our English "God be with you?" or, in phrase Of Persia, "Khuda hafîz"—"All your days Heaven keep you!" Or, as the Egyptians do, "Lailatak saïd!"—"Happy night to you!" Or, in the Arab manner, hand on brow, "Salaam aleikum!"—"Peace be with you now!" Or, in the soft Italian—"Addio!" "To God I give you, since—alas!—I go." "Ora d' partenza!" Or, as they of Spain, "Hasta la vista!"—"Till we meet again!" "Vaya con Dios!"—"Go thy ways with God!" ​Or lightly, with the lively Frenchman's nod, "Bon soir, mais sans adieu!"—" Good-night, and yet No speech of parting till once more we are met!" Or solemn Sanskrit "Swâgatam;" or word Of guttural German, at hand-shaking heard, "Auf wiedersehen." Or any far-fetched speech Of India, China, Russia, seeking each Some pretty gentle wish to charm away The sorrow of the thing they have to say? No! it shall not be any one of these, But "Sayonara," in soft Japanese; For this at worst, means "Since it must be so!" And, while we speak the sad word, who can know We shall not change it to "So de wa nai!" And have no Sayonara then to say?
# Potiphar's Wife and Other Poems/Chapter 1 of the Dhammapada

CHAPTER I. OF THE DHAMMAPADA
Thought in the mind hath made us. What thou art By thought was wrought and builded. If a soul Hath evil thoughts, pain comes as wheels of cart Behind its oxen roll.
All that we are is what we think and will: Our thoughts shape us and frame. If one endure In purity of thought, joy follows still As his own shadow—sure!
"He hath defamed me, wronged me, broken trust, Abased me, beaten me! "If one shall keep ​Thoughts like these angry words within his breast Hatreds will never sleep!
"He hath defamed me, wronged me, vilely wrought, Abased me, beaten me!" If one shall send Such angry words away for pardoning thought Hatreds will have an end.
For, never anywhere at any time Did hatred cease by hatred. Always 'tis By Love that hatred ceaseth. From the prime The ancient Rule is this.
The many, that live foolish, do forget Or never knew, how mortal wrongs pass by: But they who know, and who remember, let Transient quarrels die.
Whoso abides, looking for pleasures, vain, Gluttonous, proud, in idle luxuries, Mara will him o'erthrow, as wind and rain Level short-rooted trees.
​Whoso abides, disowning joys, controlled, Temperate, faithful, firm, shunning all ill, Mara shall no more shake that man strong-souled Than the wind shakes a hill.
Whoso Kâshŷa bears—the yellow dress— Being anishkashŷa, not sin-free Nor heeding Truth and Law—in wrongfulness That holy robe wears he.
But whoso, living nishkashŷa aright, Clean from offence, doth still in virtue dwell Observing temperance and truth—that wight Weareth Kâshŷa well.
Whoso imagines truth in the untrue And in the true finds untruth—he expires Never attaining Knowledge—all's to rue! He follows vain desires.
​Whoso discerns in truth the true, and sees The false in falseness with unblinded eye, He doth attain to knowledge. Life with these Aims well before they die.
As rain breaks through an ill-thatched roof, so break Passions through minds which holy thoughts despise: As rain runs from a well-laid roof—so shake Their passions off, the wise.
The Evil-doer mourneth this life long And mourneth in the life to come. In both He grieveth. When he seeth fruit of wrong To see he will be loath.
The righteous man in this world hath his boot, And in the world to come. From both he takes Pleasaunce. When he doth see his works bear fruit The good sight gladness makes.
​Glad is he living, glad in dying, glad Having once died: glad alway, glad to know What good deeds he had done, glad that he had More good where he did go.
The lawless man, who Law not following, Leaf after leaf recites, and line by line; No Buddhist is he, but a hireling Who counts another's kine.
The law-obeying, loving one, who learns Only one verse of Dharma, but hath ceased From envy, hatred, malice, ill concerns, He is the Buddhist Priest!
# Potiphar's Wife and Other Poems/Inscription for Stained-Glass Window

INSCRIPTION FOR STAINED-GLASS WINDOW
IN ST. MARGARET'S CHURCH, WESTMINSTER, LONDON
(To the Memory of Edward Lloyd, Esq.)
A Master-Printer of the Press, he spake By mouth of many thousand tongues: he swayed The pens which break the sceptres. Good Lord! make Thy strong ones faithful and thy bold afraid!
# Potiphar's Wife and Other Poems/At Sea

AT SEA
Tangled and torn, the white sea-laces Broider the breast of the Indian Deep: Lifted aloft the strong screw races To slacken and strain in the waves which leap: The great sails swell: the broad bows shiver To green and silver the purple sea; And, down from the sunset, a dancing river Flows, broken gold, where our ship goes free.
Too free! too fast! With memories laden I gaze to the northward where lies Japan: Oh, fair and pleasant, and soft-voiced maiden! You are there, too distant! O Yoshi San! You are under those clouds by the storm-winds shaken, A thousand ri, as the sea-gull flies, ​As lost as if Death, not Time, had taken My eyes away from your beautiful eyes.
Yet, if it were Death, of Friends, my Fairest! He could not rend our spirits in twain: They came too near to be less than nearest In the world where true hearts mingle again. But sad is the hour we sigh farewell in, And, for me, whenever they name Japan, All grace, all charm, of the land you dwell in Is spoken in saying "O Yoshi San!"
# Potiphar's Wife and Other Poems/An Introduction

AN INTRODUCTION
(To O Yoshi San, with a copy of "Alice through the Looking-Glass.")
Blue-eyed Alice! once more pass Lightly through your looking-glass, Where, in wonder-world of dream, Nothing is, but all things seem. Pass! and tell O Yoshi San All the mad wild fun you can, Till her dear eyes, dark as night, Gleam like yours with gay delight. English Alice! if you please, Be to-day quite Japanese! *******
Alice! here's O Yoshi San! (Sweetest maid in all Japan) Full of fun as heav'n of blue, ​Yet demure and studious, too: Yoshi! give your soft small hand To Alice, fresh from Dreaming-Land! Sweetest girl in England she, So, make friends—and think of me!
# Potiphar's Wife and Other Poems/A Rose of the "Garden of Fragrance"

A ROSE OF THE "GARDEN OF FRAGRANCE"
(From the Persian of Sâdi's "Bostan.")
Of hearts disconsolate see to the state: To bear a breaking heart may prove thy fate.
Help to be happy those thine aid can bless, Mindful of thine own day of helplessness.
If thou at others' doors need'st not to pine In thanks to Allah drive no man from thine.
Over the orphan's path protection spread! Pluck out his heart-grief, lift his drooping head.
When with his neck bent low thou spiest one, Kiss not the lifted face of thine own son!
​Take heed these go not weeping. Allah's throne Shakes to the sigh the orphan breathes alone.
With kindness wipe the tear-drop from his eye, Cleanse him from dust of his calamity!
There was a merchant, who, upon his way— Meeting one fatherless and lamed—did stay
To draw the thorn which pricked his foot; and passed: And 'twas forgot: and the man died at last:
But in a dream the Prince of Khojand spies That man again, walking in Paradise;
Walking and talking in the Blessed Land, And what he said the Prince could understand:
For he said this: plucking the heavenly posies, "Ajâb! that one Thorn made me many Roses!"