OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Rock-cut Temples of India/The Caves of Ajunta/Verandah of Cave No. 16—Ajunta

VERANDAH OF CAVE No. 16.—AJUNTA.
THE verandah of this Cave, No. 16, is supported by plain octagonal columns with bracket capitals, not unlike those of No. 11, and its roof is ornamented with paintings of singularly elegant design, but which unfortunately have been very much destroyed by exposure to atmospheric influences.
There are no inscriptions in the Caves Nos. 16 and 17, which would enable us to fix their date with certainty, but from such data as exist, and such analogies as are available for comparison in other Caves, there can be little doubt but that they belong to the seventh or eighth centuries. At all events we cannot be mistaken if we assert that they were excavated and painted between what in Europe we should call the age of Justinian and that of Charlemagne, but probably nearer the age of the first than second-named emperor.
The doorway leading into the central hall is unusually plain, being merely adorned with one pilaster similar in design to the pillar in the verandah of Cave No. 11.
# The Rock-cut Temples of India/The Caves of Ajunta/Vihara No. 11, at Ajunta

VIHARA No. 11, AT AJUNTA.
The external façade is plain, but in good taste, consisting of four plain octagonal piers with bracket capitals, standing in a plain panelled stylobate approached by a flight of steps; the whole design being very appropriate to its position.
# The Surprising Adventures of Baron Munchausen

The stories about Münchhausen were first collected and published by an anonymous author in 1781. An English version was published in London in 1785, by Rudolf Erich Raspe, as Baron Munchhausen's Narrative of his Marvellous Travels and Campaigns in Russia, also called The Surprising Adventures of Baron Munchhausen. It is not clear how much of the story material derives from the Baron himself; however, it is known that the majority of the stories are based on folktales that had been in circulation for many centuries before Münchhausen's birth.
    — Excerpted from Baron Munchhausen , the free online encyclopedia.

## Table of contents

* Introduction
* Preface to the first edition
* TRAVELS OF BARON MUNCHAUSEN
* [THE BARON IS SUPPOSED TO RELATE THESE ADVENTURES TO HIS FRIENDS OVER A BOTTLE.]
* Chapter I.
* Chapter II.
* Chapter III.
* Chapter IV.
* Chapter V.
* Chapter VI.
* Chapter VII.
* Chapter VIII.
* Chapter IX.
* Chapter X.
* Chapter XI.
* Chapter XII.
* Chapter XXXIV.
# The Rehearsal

THE
REHEARSAL,
As it was Acted at the
Theatre-Royal.
LONDON,
Printed for Thomas Dring, at the White-Lyon, next Chancery-lane end in Fleet-street. 1672.
* Prologue
* Actors Names
* Act I. Scene I.
* Act II. Scene I.
* Act II. Scene II.
* Act II. Scene III.
* Act II. Scene IV.
* Act II. Scene V.
* Act III. Scene I.
* Act III. Scene II.
* Act IV. Scene I.
* Act IV. Scene II.
* Act V. Scene I.
* Epilogue
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
# The Rehearsal/Act 2-2

SCÆNA II.
Enter the two Kings, hand in hand.
Bayes.These are the two Kings of Brentford; take notice of their stile: 'twas never yet upon the Stage; but, if you like it, I could make a shift, perhaps, to shew you a whole Play, written all just so.
1 King. Did you observe their whisper, brother King?
2 King. I did; and heard besides a grave Bird sing That they intend, sweet-heart, to play us pranks.
Bayes. This, now, is familiar, because they are both persons of the same Qualitie.
Smi. 'Sdeath, this would make a man spew.
1 King. If that design appears,
1 King. I'l lug 'em by the ears
1 King. Until I make 'em crack.
2 King. And so will I, i'fack.
1 King. You must begin, Mon foy.
2 King. Sweet, Sir, Pardonnes moy.
Bayes. Mark that: I Makes 'em both speak French, to shew their breeding.
Johns. O, 'tis extraordinary fine.
2 King. Then, spite of Fate, we'l thus combined stand;
1 King. And, like true brothers, walk still hand in hand.
[Exeunt Reges.
Johns. This is a very Majestick Scene indeed.
Bayes. Ay, 'tis a crust, a lasting crust for your Rogue Critiques, I gad: I would fain see the proudest of 'em all but dare to nibble at this; I gad, if they do, this shall rub their gums for 'em, I promise you. It was I, you must know, writ the Play I told you of, in this very Stile: and shall I tell you a very good jest? I gad, the Players would not act it: ha, ha, ha.
Smi. That's impossible.
​Bayes. I gad, they would not, Sir: ha, ha, ha. They refus'd it, I gad, the silly Rogues: ha, ha, ha.
Johns. Fie, that was rude.
Bayes. Rude! I gad, they are the rudest, uncivilest persons, and all that, in the whole world: I gad, there's no living with 'em. I have written, Mr. Johnson, I do verily believe, a whole cart-load of things, every whit as good as this, and yet, I vow to gad, these insolent Raskals have turn'd 'em all back upon my hands again.
Johns. Strange fellows indeed.
Smi. But pray, Mr. Bayes, how came these two Kings to know of this whisper? for, as I remember, they were not present at it.
Bayes. No, but that's the Actors fault, and not mine; for the Kings should (a pox take 'em) have pop'd both their heads in at the door, just as the other went off.
Smi. That, indeed, would ha' done it.
Bayes. Done it! Ay, I gad, these fellows are able to spoil the best things in Christendom. I'l tell you, Mr. Johnson, I vow to gad, I have been so highly disoblig'd, by the peremptoriness of these fellows, that I am resolv'd, hereafter, to bend all my thoughts for the service of the Nursery, and mump your proud Players, I gad.
# The Rehearsal/Act 2-4

SCÆNA IV.
Enter Gentleman-Usher and Physician.
Ush.Come, Sir; let's state the matter of fact, and lay our heads together.
Phys. Right: lay our heads together. I love to be merry sometimes; but when a knotty point comes, I lay my head close to it, with a pipe of Tobacco in my mouth, and then I whew it away, i'faith.
Bayes. I do just so, I gad, always.
Ush. The grand question is, whether they heard us whisper? which I divide thus: into when they heard, what they heard, and whether they heard or no.
Johns. Most admirably divided, I swear.
Ush. As to the when; you say just now: so that is answer'd. Then, for what; why, what answers it self: for what could they hear, but what we talk'd of? So that, naturally, and of necessity, we come to the last question, Videlicet, whether they heard or no?
Smi. This is a very wise Scene, Mr. Bayes.
Bayes. Yes; you have it right: they are both Polititians. I writ this Scene for a pattern, to shew the world how men should talk of business.
Johns. You have done it exceeding well, indeed.
Bayes. Yes, I think this will do.
Phys. Well, if they heard us whisper, they'l turn us out, and no bodie else will take us.
​Ush. No bodie else will take us.
Smi. Not for Polititians, I dare answer for it.
Phys. Let's then no more our selves in vain bemoan:
Phys.We are not safe until we them unthrone.
Ush. 'Tis right:
Ush. And, since occasion now seems debonair,
Ush. I'l seize on this, and you shall take that chair.
They draw their Swords, and sit down in the two great chairs upon the Stage.
Bayes. There's now an odd surprise; the whole State's turn'd quite topsi-turvy, without any puther or stir in the whole world, I gad.
Johns. A very silent change of a Government, truly, as ever I heard of.
Bayes. It is so. And yet you shall see me bring 'em in again, by and by, in as odd a way every jot.
[The Usurpers march out flourishing their swords.
Enter Shirley.
Shir. Hey ho, hey ho: what a change is here! Hey day, hey day! I know not what to do, nor what to say. [Exit.
Smi. But, pray, Sir, how came they to depose the Kings so easily?
Bayes. Why, Sir, you must know, they long had a design to do it before; but never could put it in practice till now: and, to tell you true, that's one reason why I made 'em whisper so at first.
Smi. O, very well: now I'm fully satisfi'd.
Bayes. And then, to shew you, Sir, it was not done so very easily neither; in this next Scene you shall see some fighting.
Smi. O, ho: so then you make the struggle to be after the business is done?
Bayes. Aye.
Smi. O, I conceive you: that is very natural.
# The Refusal of Charon

According to the superstition of the modern Greeks, Charon performs the function which their ancestors assigned to Hermes, of conducting the souls of the dead to the other world.
Why look the distant mountains
    So gloomy and so drear?
Are rain clouds passing o'er them,
    Or is the tempest near?
No shadow of the tempest
    Is there, nor wind nor rain—
'Tis Charon that is passing by,
    With all his gloomy train.
The young men march before him,
    In all their strength and pride;
The tender little infants,
    They totter by his side;
The old men walk behind him,
    And earnestly they pray—
Both old and young imploring him
    To grant some brief delay.
"O, Charon! halt, we pray thee,
    Beside some little town,
Or near some sparkling fountain,
    Where the waters wimple down!
The old will drink and be refreshed,
    The young the disc will fling,
And the tender little children
    Pluck flowers beside the spring."
"I will not stay my journey,
    Nor halt by any town,
Near any sparkling fountain,
    Where the waters wimple down:
The mothers coming to the well,
    Would know the babes they bore,
The wives would clasp their husbands,
    Nor could I part them more."
# The Refutation of All Heresies

English-language translations of The Refutation of All Heresies include:
* The Refutation of All Heresies in the Ante-Nicene Christian Library (1869), translated by Author:John Henry MacMahon
* The Refutation of All Heresies in the Ante-Nicene Fathers (1885), translated by John Henry MacMahon edited with further notes by Arthur Cleveland Coxe
# The Rehearsal/Act 2-3

SCÆNA III.
Enter Prince Pretty-man.
Pret.How strange a captive am I grown of late!
Shall I accuse my Love, or blame my Fate?
Pre. My Love, I cannot; that is too Divine:
Pre. And against Fate what mortal dares repine?
Enter Cloris.
Sure 'tis some blazing Comet, is it not? [Lyes down.
Bayes. Blazing Comet! mark that. I gad, very fine.
​Pret. But I am so surpris'd with sleep, I cannot speak the rest. [sleeps.
Bayes. Does not that, now, surprise you, to fall asleep just in the nick? His spirits exhale with the heat of his passion, and all that, and swop falls asleep, as you see. Now, here, she must make a simile.
Smi. Where's the necessity of that, Mr. Bayes?
Bayes. Because she's surpris'd. That's a general Rule: you must ever make a simile when you are surpris'd; 'tis the new way of writing.
Cloris. As some tall Pine, which we, on Ætna, find
Cloris. T' have stood the rage of many a boyst'rous wind,
Cloris. Feeling without, that flames within do play,
Cloris. Which would consume his Root and Sap away;
Cloris. He spreads his worsted Arms unto the Skies,
Cloris. Silently grieves, all pale, repines and dies:
Cloris. So, shrowded up, your bright eye disappears.
Cloris. Break forth, bright scorching Sun, and dry my tears. [Exit.
Bayes. I am afraid, Gentlemen, this Scene has made you sad; for I must confess, when I writ it, I wept my self.
Smi. No, truly, Sir, my spirits are almost exhal'd too, and I am likelier to fall asleep.
Prince Pretty-man starts up, and says———
Pret. It is resolv'd. [Exit.
Smi. Mr. Bayes, may one be so bold as to ask you a question, now, and you not be angry?
Bayes. O Lord, Sir, you may ask me what you please. I vow to gad, you do me a great deal of honour: you do not know me, if you say that, Sir.
Smi. Then, pray, Sir, what is it that this Prince here has resolv'd in his sleep?
Bayes. Why, I must confess, that question is well enough ask'd, for one that is not acquainted with this new way of writing. But you must know, Sir, that, to out-do all my fellow-Writers, whereas they keep their Intrigo secret till the very last Scene before the Dance; I now, Sir, do you mark me ——— a ———
​Smi. Begin the Play, and end it, without ever opening the Plot at all?
Bayes. I do so, that's the very plain troth on't: ha, ha, ha; I do, I gad. If they cannot find it out themselves, e'en let 'em alone for Bayes, I warrant you. But here, now, is a Scene of business: pray observe it; for I dare say you'l think it no unwise discourse this, nor ill argu'd. To tell you true, 'tis a Debate I over-heard once betwixt two grand, sober, governing persons.
# The Rehearsal/Act 2-5

SCÆNA V.
Enter four men at one door, and four at another, with their swords drawn.
1 Soldier.Stand. Who goes there?
2 Sol. A friend.
1 Sol. What friend?
2 Sol. A friend to the House.
1 Sol. Fall on. [They all kill one another.Musick strikes.
Bayes. Hold, hold. [To the Musick. It ceaseth.
Now, now, now. [The Musick play his Note, and the dead men rise; but cannot get in order.
O Lord, O Lord!
Out, out, out! Did ever men spoil a good thing so? no figure, no ear, no time, no thing? you dance worse than the Angels in Harry the Eight, or the fat Spirits in The Tempest, I gad.
1 Sol. Why, Sir, 'tis impossible to do any thing in time, to this Tune.
Now mark my Note in Effaut flat. Strike up Musick.
Now. [As he rises up hastily, he tumbles and falls down again. Ah, gadsookers, I have broke my Nose.
Johns. By my troth, Mr. Bayes, this is a very unfortunate Note of yours, in Effaut flat.
Bayes. A plague of this damn'd Stage, with your nails, and ​your tenter-hooks, that a man cannot come to teach you to Act, but he must break his nose, and his face, and the divel and all. Pray, Sir, can you help me to a wet piece of brown papyr?
Smi. No indeed, Sir; I don't usually carry any about me.
2 Sol. Sir, I'l go get you some within presently.
Bayes. Go, go then; I'l follow you. Pray dance out the Dance, and I'l be with you in a moment. Remember you four that you dance like Horsemen. [Exit Bayes.
They dance the Dance, but can make nothing of it.
1 Sol. A Devil! let's try this no more: play my Dance that Mr. Bayes found fault with. [Dance, & Exeumt.
Smi. What can this fool be doing all this while about his nose?
Johns. Pr'ythee let's go see. [Exeunt.
Finis Actus secundi.
# The Sad Years/Comfort the Women

From The Sad Years (1918).
COMFORT THE WOMEN
A Prayer in Time of War
Whence comes the rain that ceaselessly doth fall, And seems to hold the bitter taste of tears? Is it the lonely sorrow of the night Where patient women shed their hopes and fears?
Where mothers' hearts, that are too brave to break, Cry in the silence what they hid by day; As from the tear-drenched pillow they arise, Proud with the dawn, and shut their grief away?
Whence comes the rain? Is it from Angel eyes That from the neutral plains of Heaven gaze Upon this tortured earth? They hear us pray, And see our strife, in pity and amaze;
Calling on Him, again so crucified, In divers tongues each righteous cause to care; Rage unto rage, hate unto hate, doth shake The doors of Heaven with its impotent prayer.
And shall my cry be heard, that calls so faint, Through scream of shell and mighty cannon's roar. Through thunder of the voices that appeal For His protection at God's closed door?
“Comfort the women, Lord, my neutral prayer May reach Thy pity where those others fail; Comfort the women in these warring lands Who through the battles go, helpless and frail.”
Dim are their eyes that watch the marching past Of all the splendid manhood and strong youth, Breaking their hearts, who are so proudly still Lest their beloved should suffer at the truth.
'Twas not for this barbarity of war The mother breathless hung by the small cot That held her man-child, fearing lest a wind Would blow too chill, or sun would shine too hot.
Or stayed her swifter feet so he might run Not lost behind, and with all gentle hand Holding him hers, who now has left her lone. Comfort the mothers, Lord, through each sad land.
Protect the women—they so helpless slain By each sharp sword that strikes a dear one down, Who on the battlefield in spirit go Without the war's red splendour or renown.
Lord, 'mid this discord of Thy Christian world, 'Mid the loud praying of men's hopes and fears, Comfort the women, let this cry be heard, For Thou hast known a human mother's tears.
# The Sad Years/Herod

From The Sad Years (1918).
HEROD
The Virgin speaks:
Draw back the starry curtains of the night, O Cherubim, and Seraphim! Pull back the purple curtains of the night, For I would look once more upon the world, That ere my sorrows made some young delight In bird and bee and each earth-flower uncurled.
Cherubim: “Sancta Virgo Virginum.”
Let me behold a garden rich with fruit, The pomegranate in shade of cypress trees, Vines and wild honey, and the small bees' lute, Where aromatic spices fill the breeze.
Seraphim: “Virgo fidelis.”
Let me behold again all unafraid, Fair Bethlehem and grey Egyptian sands, Let me but see the spreading cedar's shade Where once I hid in half-forgotten lands.
Let me but watch the little goats that leap On the rough rocks that circle Galilee, And I would hear the swelling waves that creep To strike strong music from the changing sea.
Seraphim: “Mater admirabilis.”
Draw back the purple curtain. I would find A people, then unborn, yet for whose sake I was most blessèd amongst womankind, And bore God's son their heavy sins to take Upon himself, so He in anguish died, To teach them all to love and live in peace. Draw now the starry curtains well aside, And all the lights of Heaven swift release.
Cherubim: “Mater Christi.”
What comes to me from far-off broken years? A voice in Rama, mourning her sad lot ! Great lamentations, women's cries and tears, A Rachel mourns her children who were not.
I hear again from out the singing spheres A mother's scream, and all her whispered prayer Stabbed by her anguish, faint beneath her fears, I hide once more upon that far earth there.
Cherubim: “Regina Martyrum.”
Draw close the starry curtains of the night Lest Heaven fade and I forget to pray; Here God is love, we hate nor suffer fight, What Herod lives upon the earth to-day?
| Cherubim: | “Da pacem, Domine, sustinentibus te, ut Prophetae tui fideles inveniantur.” |
| Seraphim: | “Pacem relinquo vobis, pacem meam do vobis, dicit Dominus.” |
Cherubim and Seraphim: Alleluia.
# The Sad Years/I Want to Talk to Thee

From The Sad Years (1918).
I WANT TO TALK TO THEE
I want to talk to thee of many things Or sit in silence when the robin sings His little song, when comes the winter bleak I want to sit beside thee, cheek by cheek.
I want to hear thy voice my name repeat, To fill my heart with echoes ever sweet; I want to hear thy love come calling me, I want to seek and find but thee, but thee.
I want to talk to thee of little things So fond, so frail, so foolish that one clings To keep them ours — who could but understand A joy in speaking them, thus hand in hand
Beside the fire; our joys, our hopes, our fears, Our secret laughter, or unchidden tears; Each day old dreams come back with beating wings, I want to speak of these forgotten things.
I want to feel thy arms around me pressed, To hide my weeping eyes upon thy breast; I want thy strength to hold and comfort me For all the grief I had in losing thee.
# The Sad Years/For He Had Great Possessions

From The Sad Years (1918).
FOR HE HAD GREAT POSSESSIONS
And I had died before the spring had come, When winter's kiss upon the fields was cold, And no small seed had broken up the land, Then had I died, whose earthly hours were told.
I should have liked to see the snowdrop rise, And pressed my lips upon the primrose bowl, To see the thousand spear-heads of new grass, But death had called to my half-willing soul.
And as I passed there came the sound of tears, Disturbing me and dropping o'er my face; I could not plead for mercy from their grief With “Stay thy tears that chill my resting-place.”
But I returned, in pity for their lot, Stood by my bed to see my kindred there; About my house I heard their footsteps go, Finding my goods and seeking each his share.
My desk, my shelf, my very roof-tree's shade They sought for long, and o'er my lands did stray, And then returned and by my corpse knelt down With folded hands to murmur, “Let us pray.”
And as they bent by the mysterious dead, Naked of all, from all possessions free, I saw each face—and went new worlds to meet, For what was I to them, or they to me?
# The Sad Years/If You Should Pass

From The Sad Years (1918).
IF YOU SHOULD PASS
If by my tomb some day you careless pass, A moment grieved by coming on my name, Ah! kneel awhile upon the tender grass In some short prayer acquitting me of blame.
If I reached not your pinnacle of right, Or fell below your standard of desire, If to my heart alone my hopes were white, And my soul built its own celestial fire,
Then let your grief, be it a single tear, Upon your cheek in tender sorrow fall, Forget where I did fail; keep only dear The deeds for which you loved me over all.
For ah ! to hear, poor shade from life shut out, Unkindly tongues to trifle with my name, So that remembrance came half-chilled with doubt In conversations less of praise than blame.
For if thy charity be overstrained And would bring slander where it cannot bless, Give me but silence where good friendship waned, Grant me the mercy of forgetfulness.
# The Sad Years/Migratory Birds

From The Sad Years (1918).
MIGRATORY BIRDS
I have listened for the beat Of slow wings across the sea. In their strange and dumb retreat From their foreign liberty.
Come the birds from northern lands, Where the Russian sleigh-bells chime, From the hungry desert sands Of a southern clime.
Come the birds where Eastern air, Pierced by lofty minaret, Echoes far the Turkish prayer Of a God we half forget.
In my garden I have strayed Through the warm sweet days of Spring, Bent to each small nest, delayed By the young birds' fluttering.
To the soft, song-laden wind Leant in hope and half in fear, One low perfect note to find In the joyous tumult here.
There's no bird upon the wing, There's no fledgeling in the nest, There's no song where others sing More glorious than the rest.
Is he caged without release Who makes all lovely things to be? What holds the gentle bird of Peace, God's hand, or human frailty?