OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/Blessens a-left

BLESSENS A-LEFT.
Lik’ souls a-toss’d at sea I bore  Sad strokes o’ trial, shock by shock, An’ now, lik’ souls a-cast ashore  To rest upon the beäten rock, I still do seem to hear the sound O’ weäves that drove me vrom my track, An’ zee my strugglèn hopes a-drown’d, An’ all my jaÿs a-floated back. By storms a-toss’d, I’ll gi’e God praïse, Wi’ much a-lost I still ha’ jaÿs. My peace is rest, my faïth is hope, An’ freedom’s my unbounded scope.
Vor faïth mid blunt the sting o’ fear.  An’ peace the pangs ov ills a-vound, An’ freedom vlee vrom evils near,  Wi’ wings to vwold on other ground. Wi’ much a-lost, my loss is small, Vor though ov e’thly goods bereft, A thousand times well worth em all Be they good blessèns now a-left. What e’th do own, to e’th mid vall, But what’s my own my own I’ll call, My faïth, an’ peace, the gifts o’ greäce, An’ freedom still to shift my pleäce.
​When I’ve a-had a tree to screen  My meal-rest vrom the high zunn’d-sky, Or ivy-holdèn wall between  My head an’ win’s a-rustlèn by, I had noo call vor han’s to bring Their seäv’ry daïnties at my nod, But stoop’d a-drinkèn vrom the spring, An’ took my meal, wi’ thanks to God, Wi’ faïth to keep me free o’ dread, An’ peäce to sleep wi’ steadvast head, An’ freedom’s hands, an’ veet unbound To woone man’s work, or woone seäme ground.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/Bob the Fiddler

BOB THE FIDDLER.
Oh! Bob the fiddler is the pride O’ chaps an’ maïdens vur an’ wide; They can’t keep up a merry tide,  But Bob is in the middle. If merry Bob do come avore ye, He’ll zing a zong, or tell a story; But if you’d zee en in his glory,  Jist let en have a fiddle.
Aye, let en tuck a crowd below His chin, an’ gi’e his vist a bow, He’ll dreve his elbow to an’ fro’,  An’ plaÿ what you do please. At Maypolèn, or feäst, or feäir, His eärm wull zet off twenty peäir, An’ meake em dance the groun’ dirt-beäre,  An’ hop about lik’ vlees.
Long life to Bob! the very soul O’ me’th at merry feäst an’ pole; Vor when the crowd do leäve his jowl,  They’ll all be in the dumps. Zoo at the dance another year, At Shillinston or Hazelbur’, Mid Bob be there to meäke em stir,  In merry jigs, their stumps!
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/Bringèn Woone Gwaïn o' Zundays

BRINGEN WOONE GWAÏN O’ ZUNDAYS.
Ah! John! how I do love to look At theäse green hollor, an’ the brook Among the withies that do hide The stream, a-growèn at the zide; An’ at the road athirt the wide  An’ shallow vword, where we young bwoys  Did peärt, when we did goo half-woys,  To bring ye gwaïn o’ Zundays.
Vor after church, when we got hwome. In evenèn you did always come To spend a happy hour or two Wi’ us, or we did goo to you; ​An’ never let the comers goo  Back hwome alwone, but always took  A stroll down wi’ em to the brook  To bring em gwain o’ Zundays.
How we did scote all down the groun’, A-pushèn woone another down! Or challengèn o’ zides in jumps Down over bars, an’ vuzz, an’ humps; An’ peärt at last wi’ slaps an’ thumps,  An’ run back up the hill to zee  Who’d get hwome soonest, you or we.  That brought ye gwain o’ Zundays.
O’ leäter years, John, you’ve a-stood My friend, an’ I’ve a-done you good; But tidden, John, vor all that you Be now, that I do like ye zoo, But what you war vor years agoo:  Zoo if you’d stir my heart-blood now.  Tell how we used to plaÿ, an’ how  You brought us gwaïn o’ Zundays.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/Bishop's Caundle

For the Dorset village of the same name, see Bishop's Caundle.
BISHOP’S CAUNDLE.
At peace day, who but we should goo To Caundle vor an’ hour or two: As gaÿ a day as ever broke Above the heads o’ Caundle vo’k, Vor peace, a-come vor all, did come To them wi’ two new friends at hwome. Zoo while we kept, wi’ nimble peäce, The wold dun tow’r avore our feäce, The aïr, at last, begun to come Wi’ drubbèns ov a beäten drum; An’ then we heärd the horns’ loud droats Plaÿ off a tuen’s upper notes; An’ then ageän a-risèn cheärm Vrom tongues o’ people in a zwarm An’ zoo, at last, we stood among The merry feäces o’ the drong. An’ there, wi’ garlands all a-tied In wreaths an’ bows on every zide, An’ color’d flags, a fluttrèn high An’ bright avore the sheenèn sky, The very guide-post wer a-drest Wi’ posies on his eärms an’ breast. At last, the vo’k zwarm’d in by scores ​An’ hundreds droo the high barn-doors, To dine on English feäre, in ranks, A-zot on chairs, or stools, or planks, By bwoards a-reachèn, row an’ row, Wi’ cloths so white as driven snow. An’ while they took, wi’ merry cheer, Their pleäces at the meat an’ beer, The band did blow an’ beät aloud Their merry tuèns to the crowd; An’ slowly-zwingèn flags did spread Their hangèn colors over head. An’ then the vo’k, wi’ jaÿ an’ pride, Stood up in stillness, zide by zide, Wi’ downcast heads, the while their friend Rose up avore the teäble’s end, An’ zaid a timely greäce, an’ blest The welcome meat to every guest. An’ then arose a mingled naïse O’ knives an’ pleätes, an’ cups an’ traÿs, An’ tongues wi’ merry tongues a-drown’d Below a deaf’nèn storm o’ sound. An’ zoo, at last, their worthy host Stood up to gi’e em all a twoast, That they did drink, wi’ shouts o’ glee,
An’ whirlèn eärms to dree times dree. An’ when the bwoards at last wer beäre Ov all the cloths an’ goodly feäre, An’ froth noo longer rose to zwim Within the beer-mugs sheenèn rim, The vo’k, a-streamèn drough the door, Went out to geämes they had in store. An’ on the blue-reäv’d waggon’s bed, Above his vower wheels o’ red, Musicians zot in rows, an’ plaÿ’d Their tuèns up to chap an’ maïd, That beät, wi’ plaÿsome tooes an’ heels, ​The level ground in nimble reels. An’ zome ageän, a-zet in line, An’ startèn at a given sign, Wi’ outreach’d breast, a-breathèn quick Droo op’nèn lips, did nearly kick Their polls, a-runnèn sich a peäce, Wi’ streamèn heäir, to win the reäce. An’ in the house, an’ on the green, An’ in the shrubb’ry’s leafy screen, On ev’ry zide we met sich lots O’ smilèn friends in happy knots, That I do think, that drough the feäst In Caundle, vor a day at leäst, You woudden vind a scowlèn feäce Or dumpy heart in all the pleäce.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/Bleäke's House

EÄKE’S HOUSE IN BLACKMWORE
John Bleäke he had a bit o’ ground Come to en by his mother’s zide; An’ after that, two hunderd pound His uncle left en when he died; “Well now,” cried John, “my mind’s a-bent To build a house, an’ paÿ noo rent.” An’ Meäry gi’ed en her consent. “Do, do,”—the maïdens cried. “True, true,”—his wife replied. “Done, done,—a house o’ brick or stwone,” Cried merry Bleäke o’ Blackmwore.
Then John he call’d vor men o’ skill, An’ builders answer’d to his call; An’ met to reckon, each his bill; Vor vloor an’ window, ruf an’ wall. An’ woone did mark it on the groun’. An’ woone did think, an’ scratch his crown, An’ reckon work, an’ write it down: “Zoo, zoo,”—woone treädesman cried, “True, true,”—woone mwore replied. “Aye, aye,—good work, an’ have good paÿ,” Cried merry Bleäke o’ Blackmwore.
​The work begun, an’ trowels rung, An’ up the brickèn wall did rise, An’ up the slantèn refters sprung, Wi’ busy blows, an’ lusty cries! An’ woone brought planks to meäke a vloor, An’ woone did come wi’ durns or door, An’ woone did zaw, an’ woone did bore. “Brick, brick,—there down below, Quick, quick,—why b’ye so slow?” “Lime, lime,—why we do weäste the time, Vor merry Bleäke o’ Blackmwore.”
The house wer up vrom groun’ to tun, An’ thatch’d ageän the raïny sky, Wi’ windows to the noonday zun, Where rushy Stour do wander by. In coo’se he had a pworch to screen The inside door, when win’s wer keen, An’ out avore the pworch, a green. “Here! here!”—the childern cried: “Dear! dear!”—the wife replied; “There, there,—the house is perty feäir,” Cried merry Bleäke o’ Blackmwore.
Then John he ax’d his friends to warm His house, an’ they, a goodish batch, Did come alwone, or eärm in eärm, All roads, a-meäkèn vor his hatch: An’ there below the clavy beam The kettle-spout did zing an’ steam; An’ there wer ceäkes, an’ tea wi’ cream. “Lo! lo!”—the women cried; “Ho! ho!”—the men replied; “Health, health,—attend ye wi’ your wealth, Good merry Bleäke o’ Blackmwore.”
​Then John, a-praïs’d, flung up his crown, All back a-laughèn in a roar. They praïs’d his wife, an’ she look’d down A-simperèn towards the vloor. Then up they sprung a-dancèn reels, An’ up went tooes, an’ up went heels, A-windèn roun’ in knots an’ wheels. “Brisk, brisk,”—the maidens cried; “Frisk, frisk,”—the men replied; “Quick, quick,—there wi’ your fiddle-stick,” Cried merry Bleäke o’ Blackmwore.
An’ when the morrow’s zun did sheen, John Bleäke beheld, wi’ jaÿ an’ pride, His bricèn house, an’ pworch, an’ green. Above the Stour’s rushy zide. The zwallows left the lwonesome groves, To build below the thatchèn oves, An’ robins come vor crumbs o’ lwoaves: “Tweet, tweet,”—the birds all cried; “Sweet, sweet,”—John’s wife replied; “Dad, dad,”—the childern cried so glad, To merry Bleäke o’ Blackmwore.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/Childhood

CHILDHOOD.
Aye, at that time our days wer but vew, An’ our lim’s wer but small, an’ a-growèn; An’ then the feäir worold wer new, An’ life wer all hopevul an’ gaÿ; An’ the times o’ the sproutèn o’ leaves, An’ the cheäk-burnèn seasons o’ mowèn, An’ bindèn o’ red-headed sheaves, Wer all welcome seasons o’ jaÿ.
Then the housen seem’d high, that be low, An’ the brook did seem wide that is narrow, An’ time, that do vlee, did goo slow, An’ veelèns now feeble wer strong, An’ our worold did end wi’ the neämes Ov the Sha’sbury Hill or Bulbarrow; An’ life did seem only the geämes That we plaÿ’d as the days rolled along.
Then the rivers, an’ high-timber’d lands, An’ the zilvery hills, ’ithout buyèn, ​Did seem to come into our hands Vrom others that own’d em avore; An’ all zickness, an’ sorrow, an’ need, Seem’d to die wi’ the wold vo’k a-dyèn, An’ leäve us vor ever a-freed Vrom evils our vorefathers bore.
But happy be childern the while They have elders a-livèn to love em, An’ teäke all the wearisome tweil That zome hands or others mus’ do; Like the low-headed shrubs that be warm, In the lewth o’ the trees up above em, A-screen’d vrom the cwold blowèn storm That the timber avore em must rue.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/Brookwell

BROOKWELL.
Well, I do zay ’tis wo’th woone’s while To beät the doust a good six mile To zee the pleäce the squier plann’d At Brookwell, now a-meäde by hand; Wi’ oben lawn, an’ grove, an’ pon’, An’ gravel-walks as clean as bron; An’ grass a’most so soft to tread As velvet-pile o’ silken thread; An’ mounds wi’ mæsh, an’ rocks wi’ flow’rs, An’ ivy-sheäded zummer bow’rs, An’ dribblèn water down below The stwonèn archès lofty bow. An’ there do sound the watervall Below a cavern’s mæshy wall, Where peäle-green light do struggle down A leafy crevice at the crown. An’ there do gush the foamy bow O’ water, white as driven snow; An’ there, a zittèn all alwone, A little maïd o’ marble stwone Do leän her little cheäk azide Upon her lily han’, an’ bide Bezide the vallèn stream to zee Her pitcher vill’d avore her knee. An’ then the brook, a-rollèn dark Below a leänèn yew-tree’s bark, ​Wi’ plaÿsome ripples that do run A-flashèn to the western zun, Do shoot, at last, wi’ foamy shocks, Athirt a ledge o’ craggy rocks, A-castèn in his heästy flight, Upon the stwones a robe o’ white; An’ then ageän do goo an’ vall Below a bridge’s archèd wall, Where vo’k agwaïn athirt do pass Vow’r little bwoys a-cast in brass; An’ woone do hold an angler’s wand, Wi’ steady hand, above the pond; An’ woone, a-pweïntèn to the stream His little vinger-tip, do seem A-showèn to his playmeätes’ eyes, Where he do zee the vishes rise; An’ woone ageän, wi’ smilèn lips, Do put a vish his han’ do clips ’Ithin a basket, loosely tied About his shoulder at his zide: An’ after that the fourth do stand A-holdèn back his pretty hand Behind his little ear, to drow A stwone upon the stream below. An’ then the housèn, that be all Sich pretty hwomes, vrom big to small, A-lookèn south, do cluster round A zunny ledge o’ risèn ground, Avore a wood, a-nestled warm, In lewth ageän the northern storm, Where smoke, a-wreathèn blue, do spread Above the tuns o’ dusky red, An’ window-peänes do glitter bright Wi’ burnèn streams o’ zummer light, Below the vine, a-traïn’d to hem Their zides ’ithin his leafy stem, ​An’ rangle on, wi’ flutt’rèn leaves, Below the houses’ thatchen eaves. An’ drough a lawn a-spread avore The windows, an’ the pworchèd door, A path do wind ’ithin a hatch, A-vastèn’d wi’ a clickèn latch, An’ there up over ruf an’ tun, Do stan’ the smooth-wall’d church o’ stwone, Wi’ carvèd windows, thin an’ tall, A-reachèn up the lofty wall; An’ battlements, a-stannèn round The tower, ninety veet vrom ground, Vrom where a teäp’rèn speer do spring So high’s the mornèn lark do zing. Zoo I do zay ’tis wo’th woone’s while To beät the doust a good six mile, To zee the pleäce the squier plann’d At Brookwell, now a-meäde by hand.
# Poems of Rural Life in the Dorset Dialect/Childern's Childern

CHILDERN’S CHILDERN.
Oh! if my ling’rèn life should run,  Drough years a-reckoned ten by ten, Below the never-tirèn zun,  Till beäbes ageän be wives an’ men; An’ stillest deafness should ha’ bound My ears, at last, vrom ev’ry sound; Though still my eyes in that sweet light, Should have the zight o’ sky an’ ground:  Would then my steäte  In time so leäte, Be jaÿ or païn, be païn or jaÿ?
When Zunday then, a-weänèn dim,  As theäse that now’s a-clwosèn still, Mid lose the zun’s down-zinkèn rim,  In light behind the vier-bound hill; An’ when the bells’ last peal’s a-rung, An’ I mid zee the wold an’ young A-vlockèn by, but shoulden hear, However near, a voot or tongue: ​ Mid zuch a zight,  In that soft light Be jaÿ or païn, be païn or jaÿ.
If I should zee among em all,  In merry youth, a-glidèn by, My son’s bwold son, a-grown man-tall,  Or daughter’s daughter, woman-high; An’ she mid smile wi’ your good feäce, Or she mid walk your comely peäce, But seem, although a-chattèn loud, So dumb’s a cloud, in that bright pleäce:  Would youth so feäir,  A-passèn there, Be jaÿ or païn, be païn or jaÿ.
’Tis seldom strangth or comeliness  Do leäve us long. The house do show Men’s sons wi’ mwore, as they ha’ less,  An’ daughters brisk, vor mothers slow. A dawn do clear the night’s dim sky, Woone star do zink, an’ woone goo high, An’ livèn gifts o’ youth do vall, Vrom girt to small, but never die:  An’ should I view,  What God mid do, Wi’ jaÿ or païn, wi’ païn or jaÿ?
# Pray v. United States/Opinion of the Court

* Court Documents
* Case Syllabus
* Opinion of the Court
United States Supreme Court
106 U.S. 594
Pray v. United States
According to the finding of facts in this case, the claimant received, on the first day of March, 1867, a written instrument appointing him occasional weigher and measurer, with a compensation fixed at $2,000 per annum when employed. He held the place and performed the duties of occasional weigher and measurer at Portland, Maine, under that appointment until November 30, 1877. A further finding is this:
For each month during the period of said service the claimant was paid his compensation upon bills made out in the following form:
'The United States Dr. to F. E. Pray, occasional Weigher of the Customs for the Port of Portland.
'For my services as occasional weigher of the customs from _____ to _____, inclusive, Sundays excepted, one month, at $2,000 per annum.'
Each bill so made out was for the sum due for the month named in it, after deducting the Sundays, and to each was subjoined a receipt, signed by the claimant, in the following form:
'Received payment for the above services, $_____, of _____, collector of customs for the port of Portland.' The present suit is brought to recover compensation for the Sundays excepted out of these monthly payments during the entire period of service. This demand is founded on the law which gives to the weighers and measurers, holding office as such by the usual appointment, a salary of $2,000 per annum, in which, of course, Sundays are disregarded. Counsel for the government contends that his letter of appointment, naming him as 'occasional weigher and measurer,' to be paid at the rate of $2,000 per annum 'when employed,' justified payment at that rate only for the days when he was in actual service. Whatever might have been said in opposition to this view, if claimant had asserted it during the early time of his service, it is clear that by the form of the bill for service for each month, he expressed his own understanding of the contract to be the same as that with the collector who employed and paid him. He makes out in his own name, 'for [his] my services as occasional weigher' 'for one month, Sundays excepted,' his bill, with the sum fixed on that basis, and accepts and signs a receipt for it, and this he does every month for 10 years. He cannot be permitted now to say, after he is out of that employment, that his contract was for $2,000 a year as an absolute salary. If this was the case of a person employed by a bank, a railroad company, or in any large business requiring many persons for its service, the case would admit of no argument. We think it equally plain in the present case. U.S. v. Adams, 7 Wall. 463; Same v. Child, 12 Wall. 241; Same v. Justice, 14 Wall. 535; Mason v. U.S. 17 Wall. 75.
The judgment of the court of claims, dismissing the petition, is affirmed.

## Notes

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
# Pray Goody

* "Pray Goody", in Highland laddie (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Edinburgh
* "Pray, Goody", in Home! Sweet Home! (n.d.), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
* "Pray Goody", in Hurrah for the Bonnets of Blue (1829), a chapbook printed in Glasgow
# Pray v. United States

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
106 U.S. 594
Pray v. United States
T. H. Talbott, for appellant.
Asst. Atty. Gen. Maury, for appellee.
MILLER, J.

## Notes

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
# Pray, to what earth does this sweet cold belong

From The Personality of Thoreau (1901) by F. B. Sanborn pp. 31-32.
Pray, to what earth does this sweet cold belong, Which asks no duties and no conscience? The moon goes up by leaps her cheerful path In some far summer stratum of the sky, While stars with their cold shine bedot her way. The fields gleam mildly back upon the sky, And far and near upon the leafless shrubs The snow dust still emits a silver light.
Under the hedge, where drift banks are their screen, The titmice now pursue their downy dreams, As often in the sweltering summer nights The bee doth drop asleep in the flower-cup, When evening overtakes him with his load.
By the brooksides, in the still genial night, The more adventurous wanderer may hear The crystals shoot and form, and winter slow Increase his rule by gentlest summer means.
# Prayer-book for Religious

PRAYER-BOOK FOR RELIGIOUS:
A COMPLETE MANUAL OF
Prayer and Devotions for the Use of the Members of all Religious Communities
A PRACTICAL GUIDE TO THE PARTICULAR EXAMEN AND TO THE METHODS OF MEDITATION.
BY
REV. F. X. LASANCE,
Author of " Visits to Jesus in the Tabernacle" " The Sacred Heart Book" " Mass Devotions" etc.
New York, Cincinnati, Chicago:
Benzinger Brothers,
Printers to the Holy Apostolic See.
1904.
page
Nihil Obstat.
Remy Lafort
Censor Librorum
Imprimatur,
✠ John M. Farley,
Archbishop of New York.
New York, May 16, 1904
Copyright, 1904, by Benziger Brothers.
page
Contents
Book I.
Meditation, Prayer, and the Particular Examen.
Book II.
General Devotions.
Book III.
Litanies, Novenas, Indulgenced Prayers, Offices, and Prayers for Particular Occasions.
Book IV.
Bona Mors Devotions; Preparation for a HAppy Death; Examination of Conscience for Extraordinary Occasions; Prayers for the Sick and Dying; the Administration of the Last Sacraments; the Office for the Dead; a Little Book of Novenas; Miscellaneous Prayers.
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
# Popular Science Monthly/Volume 39/October 1891/Obituary Notes

Layout 4
Dr. Eduard Schönfeld, Director of the Observatory and Professor of Astronomy at Bonn, died May 1st, in the sixty-third year of his age. His attention was especially directed to astronomy while a student in the University of Marburg. In 1852 he became a pupil and assistant of Argelander, who was beginning his Durchmusterung, or survey of the stars of the northern hemisphere. In 1859 he was appointed Director of the Observatory at Mannheim, where he prepared two catalogues of the variable stars. On Argelander's death, in 1875, he was made his successor at Bonn. He extended the Durchmusterung to stars in zones down to 23° of southern declination.
M. Alexandre Edmond Becquerel, an eminent French physicist, died in Paris, May 11th, in the seventy second year of his age. He was the son of Antoine César Becquerel, the founder of electro-chemics, and himself led a career hardly less distinguished. The investigations with which his name is connected include those on the laws of electro-chemical decomposition, the disengagement of heat by electricity passing in circuits, the disengagement of electricity by mechanical action, the properties of electrified bodies, the action of magnetism on bodies, the property of diamagnetism, the magnetic quality of oxygen, the constitution of the solar spectrum, the chemical action of light, phosphorescence, etc.; respecting which he made important discoveries and published valuable papers in the scientific journals. He also published books—treatises on Terrestrial Physics and Magnetism (1847) and Electricity and Magnetism (2 vols., 1855), and a Précis d'Histoire of Electricity and Magnetism (1858).
Mr. Norman R. Pogson, for thirty years Director of the Observatory at Madras, India, has recently died there. Till 1851 he was connected with Mr. Bishop's Observatory in Regent's Park, where he took part in the observations for forming the ecliptic charts that were published there. He then became an assistant in the Radcliffe Observatory at Oxford, and there discovered several minor planets, and in his investigations of variable stars fixed upon the number whose logarithm is 0·4, which has been adopted to express the ratio of the amount of light that separates two consecutive magnitudes. He left England in 1861 to take charge of the Madras Observatory, from which several volumes of observations were published under his direction.
Captain Cecilio Pujazon, Director of the Marine Observatory at San Fernando, near Cadiz, Spain, died April 15th, in his fifty-seventh year.
# Prince Otto/Book 1

BOOK I.
PRINCE ERRANT
# Prince Otto/Book 2

BOOK II.
OF LOVE AND POLITICS