OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 14/Letter: St John to Swift - 3

LORD BOLINGBROKE TO DR. SWIFT.
NOV. 19, 1729.
I FIND that you have laid aside your project of building in Ireland, and that we shall see you in this island cum zephyris, & hirundine prima. I know not whether the love of fame increases as we advance in age; sure I am that the force of friendship does. I loved you almost twenty years ago: I thought of you as well as I do now, better was beyond the power of conception, or to avoid an equivoque, beyond the extent of my ideas. Whether you are more obliged to me for loving you as well when I knew you less, or for loving you as well after loving you so many years, I shall not determine. What I would say is this: while my mind grows daily more independent of the world, and feels less need of leaning on external objects, the ideas of friendship return oftener, they busy me, they warm me more: Is it that we grow more tender as the moment of our great separation approaches? or is it that they who are to live together in another state, (for vera amicitia non nisi inter bonos) begin to feel more strongly that divine sympathy which is to be the great band of their future society? There is no one thought which sooths my mind like this: I encourage my imagination to pursue it, and am heartily afflicted when another ​faculty of the intellect comes boisterously in, and wakes me from so pleasing a dream, if it be a dream. I will dwell no more on economicks than I have done in my former letter. Thus much only I will say, that otium cum dignitate is to be had with 500l. a year as well as with 5000l: the difference will be found in the value of the man, and not in that of the estate. I do assure you, that I have never quitted the design of collecting, revising, improving, and extending several materials which are still in my power; and I hope that the time of setting myself about this last work of my life is not far off. Many papers of much curiosity and importance are lost, and some of them in a manner which would surprise and anger you. However, I shall be able to convey several great truths to posterity, so clearly and so authentically, that the Burnets and the Oldmixons of another age may rail, but not be able to deceive. Adieu my friend. I have taken up more of this paper than belongs to me, since Pope is to write to you; no matter, for upon recollection the rules of proportion are not broken; he will say as much to you in one page, as I have said in three. Bid him talk to you of the work he is about, I hope in good earnest; it is a fine one; and will be in his hands an original. His sole complant is, that he finds it too easy in the execution. This flatters his laziness, it flatters my judgment, who always thought that (universal as his talents are) this is eminently and peculiarly his, above all the writers I know living or dead: I do not except Horace. Adieu.
* ↑ With the zephyrs and the first swallow.
* ↑ True friendship is found only between good men.
* ↑ Retirement with dignity.
* ↑ Essay on Man; on which therefore, it appears, he was employed in 1729.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 14/Letter: St John to Swift - 4

LORD BOLINGBROKE TO DR. SWIFT.
JAN. 17, 1730-31.
I BEGIN my letter by telling you that my wife has been returned from abroad about a month, and that her health, though feeble and precarious, is better than it has been these two years. She is much ​your servant, and as she has been her own physician with some success, imagines she could be yours with the same. Would to God you was within her reach. She would I believe prescribe a great deal of the medicina animi, without having recourse to the books of Trismegistus. Pope and I should be her principal apothecaries in the course of the cure; and though our best botanists complain, that few of the herbs and simples which go to the composition of these remedies, are to be found at present in our soil, yet there are more of them here than in Ireland; besides, by the help of a little chymistry, the most noxious juices may become salubrious, and rank poison a specifick. — Pope is now in my library with me, and writes to the world, to the present and to future ages, while I begin this letter which he is to finish to you. What good he will do to mankind I know not; this comfort he may be sure of, he cannot do less than you have done before him. I have sometimes thought that if preachers, hangmen, and moral writers keep vice at a stand, or so much as retard the progress of it, they do as much as human nature admits: a real reformation is not to be brought about by ordinary means; it requires these extraordinary means which become punishments as well as lessons: national corruption must be purged ​by national calamities. — Let us hear from you. We deserve this attention, because we desire it, and because we believe that you desire to hear from us.
* ↑ Medicine of the mind.
* ↑ Bolingbroke has enlarged on this topick in his Philosophical Works, intending to depreciate Christianity by showing that it has not had a general effect on the morals of mankind, nor produced a real reformation: an argument nothing to the purpose, nor any impeachment of the doctrines of the Gospel; even if it were founded, as it certainly is not.
* ↑ France affords a striking example of this truth.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Mary the Cook Maid's Letter to Dr. Sheridan

MARY THE COOK MAID'S LETTER TO DR. SHERIDAN. 1723.
WELL, if ever I saw such another man since my mother bound my head! You a gentleman! marry come up! I wonder where you were bred. I'm sure such words do not become a man of your cloth; I would not give such language to a dog, faith and troth. Yes, you call'd my master a knave: fie, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis a shame For a parson, who should know better things, to come out with such a name. Knave in your teeth, Mr. Sheridan! 'tis both a shame and a sin; And the dean my master is an honester man than you and all your kin: He has more goodness in his little finger than you have in your whole body: My master is a parsonable man, and not a spindle-shank'd hoddy doddy. ​And now, whereby I find you would fain make an excuse. Because my master one day, in anger, call'd you goose: Which, and I am sure I have been his servant four years since October, And he never call'd me worse than sweetheart, drunk or sober: Not that I know his reverence was ever concern'd to my knowledge, Though you and your come-rogues keep him out so late in your college. You say you will eat grass on his grave: a christian eat grass! Whereby you now confess yourself to be a goose or an ass: But that's as much as to say, that my master should die before ye; Well, well, that's as God pleases; and I don't believe that's a true story: And so say I told you so, and you may go tell my master; what care I? And I don't care who knows it; 'tis all one to Mary. Every body knows that I love to tell truth, and shame the devil; I am but a poor servant; but I think gentlefolks should be civil. Besides, you found fault with our victuals one day that you was here; I remember it was on Tuesday of all days in the year. And Saunders the man says you are always jesting and mocking: Mary, said he, (one day as I was mending my master's stocking;) ​My master is so fond of that minister that keeps the school — I thought my master a wise man, but that man makes him a fool. Saunders, said I, I would rather than a quart of ale He would come into our kitchen, and I would pin a dishclout to his tail. And now I must go, and get Saunders to direct this letter; For I write but a bad scrawl; but my sister Marget, she writes better. Well, but I must run and make the bed, before my master comes from prayers. And see now, it strikes ten, and I hear him coming up stairs; Whereof I could say more to your verses, if I could write written hand: And so I remain, in a civil way, your servant to command,
MARY.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Merlin's Prophecy

MERLIN'S PROPHECY. 1709.
SEVEN and ten, addyd to nine, Of Fraunce her woe this is the sygne, Tamys rivere twys y-frozen, Walke sans wetyng shoes ne hozen. Then comyth foorthe, ich understonde, From towne of stoffe to fattyn londe, An hardie chyftan, woe the morne, To Fraunce that evere he was born. Then shall the fyshe beweyle his bosse: Nor shall grin berrys make up the losse. ​Yonge Symnele shall again miscarrye: And Norway's pryd again shall marrye. And from the tree where blosums feele, Ripe fruit shall come, and all is wele. Reaums shall daunce honde in honde, And it shall be merrye in olde Inglonde, Then old Inglonde shall be no more, And no man shall be sorie therefore. Geryon shall have three hedes agayne, Till Hapsburge makyth them but twayne.
* ↑ Duke of Marlborough.
* ↑ The Dauphin.
* ↑ Duke of Berry.
* ↑ The young pretender.
* ↑ Queen Anne.
* ↑ By the Union.
* ↑ A king of Spain slain by Hercules.
* ↑ The archduke Charles was of the Hapsburg family.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Mr. Rochfort's Reply

This is the sixth of twelve poems on the same subject: 1. On Dan Jackson's Picture; 2. On the same; 3. On the same; 4. On the same; 5. Dan Jackson's Defence; 6. Mr. Rochfort's Reply; 7. Dr. Delany's Reply; 8. Sheridan's Reply; 9. A Rejoinder, by the Dean; 10. Another Rejoinder, by the Dean; 11. Sheridan's Submission, by the Dean; and 12. To the Rev. Daniel Jackson.
MR. ROCHFORT'S REPLY.
YOU say your face is better hung Than ours — by what? by nose or tongue? In not explaining, you are wrong to us, sir.
Because we thus must state the case, That you have got a hanging face, Th' untimely end's a damn'd disgrace of noose, sir.
But yet be not cast down: I see A weaver will your hangman be; You'll only hang in tapestry with many:
And then the ladies, I suppose, Will praise your longitude of nose, For latent charms within your clothes, dear Danny.
Thus will the fair of every age From all parts make their pilgrimage, Worship thy nose with pious rage of love, sir: ​All their religion will be spent About thy woven monument, And not one orison be sent to Jove, sir.
You the fam'd idol will become, As gardens grac'd in ancient Rome, By matrons worship'd in the gloom of night:
O happy Dan! thrice happy sure! Thy fame for ever shall endure, Who after death can love secure at sight.
So far I thought it was my duty To dwell upon thy boasted beauty; Now I'll proceed a word or two t' ye in answer
To that part where you carry on This paradox, that rock and stone In your opinion are all one: How can, sir,
A man of reasoning so profound So stupidly be run aground, As things so different to confound t' our senses?
Except you judg'd them by the knock Of near an equal hardy block: Such an experimental stroke convinces.
Then might you be, by dint of reason, A proper judge on this occasion; 'Gainst feeling there's no disputation, is granted: ​Therefore to thy superiour wit, Who made the trial, we submit; Thy head to prove the truth of it we wanted.
In one assertion you're to blame, Where Dan and Sherry's made the same, Endeavouring to have your name refin'd, sir:
You'll see most grossly you mistook, If you consult your spelling-book, (The better half you say you took) you'll find, sir;
S, H, E, she — and R, I, ri, Both put together make Sherry, D, A, N, Dan — makes up the three syllables;
Dan is but one, and Sherri two, Then, sir, your choice will never do; Therefore I've turn'd, my friend, on you the tables.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/On Another Window

ON ANOTHER WINDOW.
A BARD, on whom Phœbus his spirit bestow'd, Resolving t'acknowledge the bounty he ow'd, Found out a new method at once of confessing, And making the most of so mighty a blessing: To the God he'd be grateful; but mortals he'd chouse, By making his patron preside in his house; And wisely foresaw this advantage from thence, That the God would in honour bear most of th' expense: So the bard he finds drink, and leaves Phœbus to treat With the thoughts he inspires, regardless of meat. Hence they, that come hither expecting to dine, Are always fobb'd off with sheer wit and sheer wine.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Ode on Science

ODE ON SCIENCE.
O, heavenly born! in deepest dells If fairest science ever dwells Beneath the mossy cave; Indulge the verdure of the woods, With azure beauty gild the floods, And flowery carpets lave.
For, melancholy ever reigns Delighted in the sylvan scenes With scientifick light; While Dian, huntress of the vales, Seeks lulling sounds and fanning gales, Though wrapt from mortal sight.
Yet, goddess, yet the way explore With magick rites and heathen lore Obstructed and depress'd: Till Wisdom give the sacred Nine, Untaught, not uninspir’d, to shine, By Reason's power redressed.
When Solon and Lycurgus taught, To moralize the human thought Of mad opinion's maze, To erring zeal they gave new laws, Thy charms, Liberty, the cause That blends congenial rays.
Bid bright Astræa gild the morn, Or bid a hundred suns be born, ​To hecatomb the year; Without thy aid, in vain the poles, In vain the zodiac system rolls, In vain the lunar sphere.
Come, fairest princess of the throng, Bring sweet philosophy along, In metaphysick dreams; While raptur'd bards no more behold A vernal age of purer gold, In Heliconian streams.
Drive Thraldom with malignant hand, To curse some other destin’d land, By Folly led astray: Ierne bear on azure wing; Energick let her soar, and sing Thy universal sway.
So, when Amphion bade the lyre To more majestick sound aspire, Behold the madding throng, In wonder and oblivion drown'd, To sculpture turn'd by magick sound, And petrifying song.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/On Burning a Dull Poem

ON BURNING A DULL POEM. 1729.
AN ass's hoof alone can hold That poisonous juice, which kills by cold. Methought, when I this poem read, No vessel but an ass's head Such frigid fustian could contain; I mean, the head without the brain. ​The cold conceits, the chilling thoughts, Went down like stupifying draughts; I found my head began to swim, A numbness crept through every limb. In haste, with imprecations dire, I threw the volume in the fire; When (who could think?) though cold as ice, It burnt to ashes in a trice. How could I more enhance its fame? Though born in snow, it dy'd in flame.
# The cat sat asleep by the side of the fire

English nursery rhyme (Roud 19688)
# The chronicles of Martin Hewitt

* information about this edition.
* related portals: Mystery.
Mystery short stories, first published, serially, in Windsor Magazine, January-June 1895.

## CONTENTS

* The Ivy Cottage Mystery
* The Nicobar Bullion Case
* The Holford Will Case
* The Case of the Missing Hand
* The Case of Laker, Absconded
* The Case of the Lost Foreigner
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
The longest-living author of this work died in 1945, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 78 years or less. This work may be in the public domain in countries and areas with longer native copyright terms that apply the rule of the shorter term to foreign works.
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# The chapter of kings, a new royal song/The chapter of kings, a new royal song

Dated from period of activity of publisher and external evidence.
the
CHAPTER OF KINGS.
THE Romans in England once did ſway, The Saxons they after them led the way, And they tug'd with the Danes till an over-throw They both of them had with the Norman bow Yet barring all pother, the one or the other Were all of them Kings in their turn.
Little Willy, the Conqueror, long did reign Tho' Billy, his ſon, by an arrow was ſlain. And Harry the firſt was a ſcholar bright. Tho' Stephy was forc'd for his Crown to fight Yet barring, &c.
Second Harry Plantagenet's name did bear, And Cour de Lion was his ſon and heir; But Magna Charta we gain’d from John, Which Harry the third put his ſeal upon. Yet barring, &c.
There's Tiddy the firſt, a lion bold, The Second by rebels was bought and ſold. And Tiddy the third was his ſubjects pride Tho’ his grandſon Dickie was poped aſide. Yet barring, &c.
​There's Harry the fourth, a warlike wight, And Harry the fifth, like a cock won fight; And Tiddy the fourth like a chick wou'd pout, Tho' his grandſon Dickie had kick'd him out. Yet barring, &c.
There's Tiddy the fifth was kill'd in bed, By butchering Dick, who was knock'd in the head. Then Harry the ſeventh in fame grew big; And Harry the eighth was as fat as a pig. Yet barring, &c.
With Tiddy the ſixth we had tranquil days, Tho' Mary made fire and faggot to blaze! And good Queen Beſs was a glorious dame! And bonny King Jamie from Scotland came. Yet barring, &c.
Charlie the firſt was a Martyr made, And Charlie the ſecond was a comical blade; And Jamie the fecond, when hotly ſpur'd, Ran away, do ye ſee me, from Willy the third. Yet barring, &c.
Queen Anne was victorious by land and ſea, And Geordie the firſt did with glory ſway, And ſince Geordie the ſecond has long been dead, Long life to the Geordie we have in his ſtead; And may his ſons ſons, to the end o’ the chapter, Come all to be King's in their turn.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# The chapter of kings, a new royal song/Beauties of Carronbraes

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the
BEAUTIES OF CARRON-BRAES.
Carron-braes are ſteep and green, Where flocks and herds are to be ſeen, Ilk farm o’erflows with milk galore, From Meikle-Binn to Carron-ſhore.
As ye come in by Tackmedown, Upon the road to Stirling town, There Carron-bridge moſt ſtately ſtands, Which ſhows the worth of maſons’ hands.
Sir John the Graham. of gallant fame, In Scotland honour'd is his name, His dwelling was on Carron-braes, Great honour ſtill unto the place.
Great Wallace, Knight of Elderſlie, With gallant Graham in company, ​From thraldom freed our kingdom thrice, On Carron-braes did oft rejoice.
But weep, my muſe, O weep to tell! Near Carron-braes the Graham he fell! Puiſſant, with his ſword and ſpear, O'erpower'd by Cummin's treachery there.
Great Bruce, our king, to Edward ſlave, Againſt his country did behave, Till Wallace, on the Carron-braes, Told him he was among his faes.
From that time forth, the hero Bruce, Did throw off Engliſh Edward's truce; Thro' much fatigue he gain'd his crown, But Douglas clear’d the country roun'.
†Great Dundas, propitious name! To thee we owe the naval ſtream; Thy ſpade was firſt the earth to raiſe, To join the Clyde to Carron-braes.
But left my ſong ſhould gather ſtrengths, And ſwell with hiſt’ry into length, I’ll lum the whole by ſinging praiſe Unto the chryſtal Carron-braes.
†The late Sir Laurence Dundas, of West-Kerse. Bart. who lifted the firſt ſpade-ful of earth, towards digging of the Great Canal between Forth and Clyde.—The Spade was preserved, and lies in West-Kerse House, by Grangemouth.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# The chapter of kings, a new royal song/Captain Mulligan

Dated from period of activity of publisher and external evidence.
CAPTAIN MULLIGAN.
Love is a plague by night and by day, When that poſt you run, you ſcull again; Love it was for Kitty Oſhea, That bother’d the heart of Capt. Mulligan. Briſk and merrily, light and gay, Stout and ſteadily, ſoft and readily, Blythe and bounily, ſmart and funnily, Quick as Adonis was Captain Mulligan.
Shoulder riſing over his ears, Face juſt like the moon, and full again; Legs in ſhape of tailors' ſheers, You ne'er ſaw the fellow of Capt. Mulligan. Simp'ring, waddling Miſs Oſhea; Glances twitching, him quite bewitching, Ogli(illegible text) bonnily, ſquint and funnily, She was a Venus for Mr. Mulligan! O ſweet Kitty! you're in pretty, Pity witty poor Captain Mulligan.
When marry'd, ſoon they alter'd their tune; Love, once fierce, it ſoon grew cool again: When they had fac'd the ſweet honey-moon, She black’ned the eyes of Captain Mulligan. Whiſky tippling night and day; Scolding, fighting, him horns affrighting! Oh! be eaſy-faith your crazy now; The Devil go with you Mrs. Mulligan.
​Faith I knew it, I would rue it, Softly cried the brave O’Mulligan: O you jewel, cruel jewel. Willing, willing Mrs. Mulligan;
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# The chapter of kings, a new royal song/Donald of Dundee

Dated from period of activity of publisher and external evidence.
DONALD OF DUNDEE.
Young Donald is the blitheſt lad That e’er made love to me! Whene'er he's by, my heart is glad, He ſeems ſo gay and free. Then on his pipe he plays to ſweet, And in his plaid he looks ſo neat, It cheers my heart at eve to meet Young Donald of Dundee.
Whene'er I gang to yonder grave, Young Sandy follows me, And ſain he wants to be my love, But ah! it canna be; Tho' mither frets both ſoon and late For me to wed this youth I hate, There's none need hope to gain young Kate, But Donald of Dundee.
When laſt we rang'd the banks of Tay, The ring he ſhew'd to me, And bade me name the bridal day, Then happy wou'd he be: I ken the youth will aye prove kind, Nae mair my mither will I mind, Meis John to me shall' quickly bind Young Donald of Dundee.
FINIS.
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# The chapter of kings, a new royal song/My love was lost in the Ramalie

Dated from period of activity of publisher and external evidence.
†o†o†o†o†o†o†o†o†o†o†o†o†o†o†
MY LOVE WAS LOST IN THE RAMALIE.
You pretty maids, where-e'er you be, That has ſweethearts on the raging ſea, Come ſhed a tear along with me, My love was loſt in the Ramalie.
My love he was a Sailor bold, As e'er a fair maid did behold; He was always conſtant and kind to me, Who has loſt his life in the Ramalie.
The ſeas did roll full mountains high, There was no daylight in the ſky! The wind did blow with a diſmal ſhoke, When the Ramalie was daſh’d againſt a rock.
Five hundred ſeamen ſlout and bold, Was then on board, as we are told; Twenty five of them their life did ſave, The reſt was buried in the watery grave.
​Nigh Plymouth harbour, where they lay, The wind did blow moſt diſmally! By a boiſterous ſea the ſhip was drove, By cruel Fortune I loſt my love!
You widows, and you fatherleſs, Come mourn with me in my diſtreſs; Their mothers to their fathers cries, We have loſt our ſons in the Ramalies!
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
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# The chapter of kings, a new royal song

Dated from period of activity of publisher and external evidence.
The Chapter of
KINGS,
A
New Royal Song.
To which is added,
Captain Mulligan,
A Favorite Comic Song.
My Love was Loſt
IN THE RAMALIE.
Beauties of Carronbraes
AND
Donald of Dundee.
FALKIRK T.JOHNSTON, PRINTER.
* The chapter of kings, a new royal song
* Captain Mulligan
* My love was lost in the Ramalie
* Beauties of Carronbraes
* Donald of Dundee
This work was published before January 1, 1929, and is in the public domain worldwide because the author died at least 100 years ago.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse