OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Tragicall History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus/Scene 14

Enter at severall doores Benvolio, Fredericke, and Martino, their heads and faces bloody and besmeared with mud and durt, having all hornes on their heads.
Mart. What ho, Benvolio?
Ben. Here, what Fredericke, ho?
Fred. O helpe me gentle friend, where is Martino?
Mart. Deere Fredericke here, Half smotherd in a lake of mud and durt, Through which the Furies dragged me by the heeles.
Fred. Martino see, Benvolio's hornes againe.
Mart. O misery, how now Benvolio?
Ben. Defend me heaven, shall I be haunted still?
Mart. Nay feare not man, we have no power to kill.
Ben. My friends transformed thus: O hellish spite,
Your heads are all set with hornes.
Fred. You hit it right; It is your owne you meane, feele on your head.
Ben. Zounds, hornes againe.
Mart. Nay, chafe not man; we all are sped.
Ben. What divell attends this damn'd Magitian, That spight of spite, our wrongs are doubled?
Fred. What may we doe that we may hide our shames?
Ben. If we should follow him to worke revenge, Hee'd joyne long Asses eares to these huge hornes, And make us laughing stocks to all the world.
Mart. What shall we then do, deere Benvolio?
Ben. I have a Castle joyning near these woods, And thither weele repaire and live obscure, Till time shall alter these our brutish shapes: Sith blacke disgrace hath thus ecclipst our fame, Weele rather die with griefe, then live with shame.
Exeunt omnes.
# The Tragicall History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus/Scene 15

Enter Faustus, and the Horse-courser and Mephostophilis
Horse-c. I beseech your Worship accept of these forty Dollers.
Faust. Friend, thou canst not buy so good a horse for so small a price: I have no great need to sell him, but if thou likest him for ten dollers more, take him, because I see thou hast a good minde to him.
Horse. I beseech you sir accept of this; I am a very poore man, and have lost very much of late by horse-flesh, and this bargaine will set me up againe.
Faust. Well I will not stand with thee, give me the mony: now sirra I must tell you, that you may ride him ore hedge, and ditch, and spare him not, but doe you hear? in any case ride him not into the water.
Horse. How sir, not into the water? why, will he not drinke of all waters?
Faust. Yes, he will drinke of all waters, but ride him not into the water: ore hedge and ditch, or where thou wilt, but not into the water: Goe bid the Hostler deliver him unto you, and remember what I say.
Horse. I warrant you sir: O joyful day, now am I a made man forever. Exit.
Faust. What art thou, Faustus, but a man condemnd to die? Thy fatall time drawes to a finall end: Despaire doth drive distrust into my thoughts. Confound these passions with a quiet sleepe, Tush Christ did call the Theefe upon the Crosse, Then rest thee Faustus quiet in conceit.
He sits to sleepe.
Enter the Horse-courser wet.
O what a cozening Doctor was this? I riding my horse into the water, thinking some hidden mystery had beene in the horse, I had nothing under me but a little straw, and had much adoe to escape drowning: Well Ile go rouse him and make him give mee my forty Dollors againe. Ho sirra Doctor, you cozening scab, Master Doctor awake, and rise, and give me my mony againe, for your horse is turned to a bottle of Hay, Master Doctor. He puls off his leg.Alas, I am undone, what shal I do? I have puld off his leg.
Faust. O helpe, helpe, the villaine hath murtherd me.
Horse. Murder or not murder, now he has but one leg. Ile out-run him, and cast this leg into some ditch or other.
Faustus Stop him, stop him, stop him!————ha, ha, ha, Faustus hath his leg againe, and the Horse-courser a bundle of hay for his fortie Dollors.
Enter Wagner.
Wag. If it please you the Duke of Vanholt doth earnestly intreat your company, and hath sent some of his men to attend with provision fit for your journey.
Faust. The Duke of Vanholt's an honourable gentleman, and one to whom I must be no niggard of my cunning, Come away.
Exeunt.
# The Tragicall History of the Life and Death of Doctor Faustus/Scene 16

Enter Clown, Dicke, Horse-courser, and a Carter.
Cart. Come my Masters, Ile bring you to the best beere in Europe, what ho, Hostesse; where be these whores?
Enter Hostesse.
How now, what lacke you? What, my old Guests? welcome.
Clo. Sirra Dicke, dost know why I stand so mute?
Dicke. No Robin, why is't?
Clow. I am eighteene pence on the score, but say nothing, see if she have forgotten me.
Host. Who's this that stands so solemnely by himselfe? What my old guest?
Clo. O Hostess how do you? I hope my score stands still.
Host. I there's no doubt of that, for me thinks you make no haste to wipe it out.
Dic. Why Hostess, I say fetch us some Beere.
Host. You shall presently, looke up into the hall there, ho.
Dicke. Come sirs, what shall wee doe till mine hostesse comes?
Cart. Marry sir, Ile tell you the bravest tale how a Conjuror serv'd me: you know Doctor Faustus.
Horse. I, a plague take him. Here's some on's have cause to know him; did he conjure thee too?
Cart. Ile tell you how he serv'd me. As I was going to Wittenberge t'other day with a load of Hay, he met me, and asked me what he should give me for as much hay as he could eate; now sir, I thinking that a little would serve his turne, bad him take as much as he would for three farthings; so he presently gave me money and fell to eating, and as I am a cursen man, he never left eating, till he had eat up all my load of hay.
All. O monstrous, eat a whole load of hay!
Clow. Yes, yes, that may be, for I have heard of one that has eat a load of logs.
Horse. Now sirs, you shall heare how villainously he serv'd mee: I went to him yesterday to buy a horse of him, and hee would by no meanes sell him under forty Dollers; so sir, because I knew him to be such a horse as would run over hedge and ditch and never tire, I gave him his money: so when I had my horse, Doctor Faustus bade me ride him night and day, and spare him no time: but, quoth hee, in any case ride him not into the water. Now sir, I thinking the horse had had some quality that he would not have me know of, what did I but rid him into a great river, and when I came just in the midst my horse vanisht away, and I sate stradling upon a bottle of hay.
All. O brave Doctor!
Horse. But you shall heare how bravely I serv'd him for it, I went me home to his house, and there I found him asleepe; I kept a hallowing and whooping in his eares, but all could not wake him: I seeing that, tooke him by the legge, and never rested pulling, till I had pul'd me his legge quite off, and now tis at home in mine hostrey.
Clow. And has the Doctor but one legge then? thats excellent, for one of his Divels turn'd me into the likenesse of an Apes face.
Cart. Some more drinke Hostesse.
Clow. Hearke you, wee'le into another roome and drinke a while, and then wee'le goe seeke out the Doctor.
Exeunt omnes.
# The Valley of Fear

* related portals: Mystery.
* sister projects: Wikipedia article, Commons category, Wikidata item.
the final Sherlock Holmes novel. The story was first published in the Strand Magazine between September 1914 and May 1915. The first book edition was published in New York on February 27, 1915.
* The Valley of Fear
* A Sherlock Holmes Novel
* By SIR ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
* AUTHOR OF
* “The Adventures of Sherlock Holmes,” “The White Company,” Etc.
* A. L. BURT COMPANY
* PUBLISHERS . . NEW YORK
* PUBLISHED BY ARRANGEMENT WITH GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
Copyright, 1914, by ARTHUR CONAN DOYLE
PRINTED IN THE UNITED STATES OF AMERICA
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 1930, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 93 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.
Public domainPublic domainfalsefalse
# The Valley of Fear/Part 1

Part I
THE TRAGEDY OF BIRLSTONE
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 11/From Jonathan Swift to Deane Swift - 1

TO MR. DEANE SWIFT.
LEICESTER, JUNE 3, 1694.
I RECEIVED your kind letter to day from your sister; and am very glad to find you will spare time from business so far as to write a long letter to one you have none at all with but friendship, which, as the world passes, is perhaps one of the idlest things in it. It is a pleasure to me to see you sally out of your road, and take notice of curiosities, of which I am very glad to have part, and desire you to set by some idle minutes for a commerce which shall ever be dear to me, and from so good an observer as you may easily be, cannot fail of being useful. I am sorry to see so much superstition in a country so given to trade; I half used to think ​those two to be incompatible. Not that I utterly dislike your processions for rain or fair weather, which, as trifling as they are, yet have good effects to quiet common heads, and infuse a gaping devotion among the rabble. But your burning the old woman, unless she were a duenna, I shall never be reconciled to; though it is easily observed that nations which have most gallantry to the young, are ever the severest upon the old. I have not leisure to descant farther upon your pleasing letter, nor any thing to return you from so barren a scene as this, which I shall leave in four days toward my journey for Ireland. I had designed a letter to my cousin Willoughby; and the last favour he has done me requires a great deal of acknowledgment; but the thought of my sending so many before, has made me believe it better to trust you with delivering my best thanks to him, and that you will endeavour to persuade him how extremely sensible of his goodness and generosity I am. I wish and shall pray he may be as happy as he deserves, and he cannot be more. My mother desires her best love to him and to you, with both our services to my cousin his wife.
I forgot to tell you I left sir William Temple a month ago, just as I foretold it to you; and every thing happened thereupon exactly as I guessed. He was extremely angry I left him; and yet would not oblige himself any farther than upon my good behaviour, nor would promise any thing firmly to me at all; so that every body judged I did best to leave him. I design to be ordained in September next, and make what endeavours I can for something in the church. I wish it may ever lie in my ​cousin's way or yours to have interest to bring me in chaplain of the factory.
If any thing offers from Dublin that may serve either to satisfy or divert you, I will not fail of contributing, and giving you constant intelligence from thence of whatever you shall desire.
I am
Your affectionate cousin
and servant,
J. SWIFT.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 11/From Jonathan Swift to Esther Vanhomrigh - 1

TO MISS VANHOMRIGH.
LARACOR, JULY 8, 1713.
I STAYED but a fortnight in Dublin very sick; and returned not one visit of a hundred, that were made me; but all to the dean, and none to the doctor. I am riding here for life; and I think I am something better. I hate the thoughts of Dublin, and prefer a field bed, and an earthen floor, before the great house there, which they say is mine, I had your last splenetick letter. I told you, when I left England, I would endeavour to forget every thing there, and would write as seldom as I could. I did indeed design one general round of letters to my friends; but my health has not yet suffered me. I design to pass the greatest part of the time I stay in Ireland, here, in the cabin where I am now writing: neither will I leave the kingdom till I am sent for; and if they have no farther service for me, I will never see England again. At my first coming, I thought I should have died with discontent; and was horribly ​melancholy, while they were installing me, but it begins to wear off, and change to dulness. My river walk is extremely pretty, and my canal in great beauty; and I see trouts playing in it. I know not any one thing now in Dublin. But Mr. Ford is very kind, and writes to me constantly what passes among you. I find you are likewise a good politician; and I will say so much to you, that I verily think, if the thing you know of had been published just upon the peace, the ministry might have avoided what has since happened: but I am now fitter to look after willows, and to cut hedges, than meddle with affairs of state. I must order one of the workmen to drive those cows out of my island, and make up the ditch again; a work much more proper for a country vicar, than driving out factions, and fencing against them. I must go and take my bitter draught to cure my head, which is spoiled by the bitter draughts which the publick has given me. So go to your dukes and duchesses, and leave me to goodman Bumford, and Patrick Dolan, of Clanduggan. Adieu.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 11/From Jonathan Swift to Esther Vanhomrigh - 3

TO MISS VANHOMRIGH.
AUG. 1, 1714.
WHO told you, I was going to Bath? No such thing. I had fixed to set out to morrow for Ireland, but poor lord Oxford desires I will go with him to Herefordshire, and only expect his answer whether I shall go there before, or meet him hereabouts; or to Wimple, (his son's house) and so go with him down; and I expect to leave this in two or three days one way or other. I will stay with him until the parliament meets again, if he desires it. I am not of your opinion about lord Bolingbroke; perhaps he may get the staff, but I cannot rely on his love to me: he knew I had a mind to be historiographer, though I valued it not, but for the publick service, yet it is gone to a worthless rogue that nobody knows. I am writ to earnestly by somebody to come to town, and join with those people now in power, but I will not do it. Say nothing of this, but guess the person. I told lord Oxford I would go with him, when he was out; and now he begs it of me, and I cannot refuse him. I meddle not with his faults, as he was a minister of state; but you know his personal kindness to me was excessive: he distinguished and chose me above all other men, while he was great; and his letter to me the other day was the most moving imaginable. When I am fixed any where, perhaps I may be so gracious to let you know, but I will not promise. Adieu.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 11/From Jonathan Swift to Esther Vanhomrigh - 4

TO MISS VANHOMRIGH.
AUG. 12, 1714.
I HAD your letter last post, and before you can send me another, I shall set out for Ireland. I must go and take the oaths; and the sooner the better. If you are in Ireland when I am there, I shall see you very seldom. It is not a place for any freedom; but it is where every thing is known in a week, and magnified a hundred degrees. These are rigorous laws that must be passed through: but it is probable we may meet in London in winter; or if not, leave all to fate, that seldom comes to humour our inclinations. I say all this out of the perfect esteem and friendship I have for you. These publick misfortunes have altered all my measures, and broke my spirits. God Almighty bless you. I shall, I hope, be on horseback in a day after this comes to your hand. I would not answer your questions for a million: nor can I think of them with any ease of mind. Adieu.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 11/From Jonathan Swift to Esther Vanhomrigh - 2

TO MISS VANHOMRIGH.
Upper Letcomb, near Wantage, Berks, June 8, 1714.
I HAVE not much news to tell you from hence, nor have I had one line from any body since I left London, of which I am very glad: but, to say the truth, I believe I shall not stay here so long as I intended; I am at a clergyman's house, whom I love very well; but he is such a melancholy thoughtful man, partly from nature, and partly by a solitary life, that I shall soon catch the spleen from him. Out of ease and complaisance, I desire him not to alter any of his methods for me; so we dine exactly between twelve and one. At eight we have some bread and butter, and a glass of ale; and at ten he goes to bed. Wine is a stranger, except a little I sent him; of which, one evening in two, we have a pint between us. His wife has been this month twenty miles off, at her father's, and will not return these ten days, I never saw her; and perhaps the house will be worse when she comes. I read all day, or walk; and do not speak as many words as I have now writ, in three days: so that, in short, I have a mind to steal to Ireland, unless I find myself take more to this way of living, so different, in every circumstance, from what I left. This is the first syllable I have writ to any body since you saw me. I shall be glad to hear from you, not as you are a Londoner, but as a friend; for I care not threepence for news, nor have heard one syllable since I came here. The pretender, or duke of Cambridge, may both be ​landed,and I never the wiser: but if this place were ten times worse, nothing shall make me return to town, while things are in the situation I left them. I give a guinea a week for my board, and can eat any thing.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 11/From Jonathan Swift to Esther Vanhomrigh - 5

PART OF AN ANSWER FROM CADENUS TO VANESSA.
If you knew how many little difficulties there are in sending letters to you, it would remove five parts in six of your quarrel. But since you lay hold of my promises, and are so exact to the day, I shall promise you no more, and rather choose to be better than my word than worse. I am confident you came chiding into the world, and will continue so while you are in it. I wonder what Mobkin meant by showing you my letter. I will write to her no more, since she can keep secrets no better. It was the first love letter I have writ these dozen years; and since I have so ill success, I will write no more. Never was a belle passion so defeated. But the governor, I hear, is jealous; and, upon your word, you have a vast deal to say to me about it. Mind your nurse-keeping: do your duty, and leave off your huffing. One would think you were in love, by dating your letter August 29, by which means I received it just a month before it was written. You do not find I answer your questions to your satisfaction: prove to me first that it was even possible to answer any thing to your satisfaction, so as that you would not grumble in half an hour. I am glad my writing puzzles you, for then your time will be employed in finding it out: and I am sure it costs me a great many thoughts to make my letters difficult. Yesterday I was half way ​toward you where I dined, and returned weary enough. I asked where that road to the left led, and they named the place. I wish your letters were as difficult as mine, for then they would be of no consequence, if they were dropped by careless messengers. A stroke —— signifies every thing that may be said to Cad—— at beginning or conclusion. It is I who ought to be in a huff, that any thing written by Cad—— should be difficult to Skinage.
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/Holy Family

HOLY FAMILY.
O child of beauty rare— O mother chaste and fair— How happy seemed they both, so far beyond compare! She in her infant blest, And he in conscious rest, Nestling within the soft warm cradle of her breast! What joy that sight might bear To him who sees them there, If, with a pure and guilt-untroubled eye, He looked upon the twain, like Joseph standing by.
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/Human Feelings

ROYAL PRAYER.
Ha, I am the lord of earth! The noble, Who're in my service, love me. Ha, I am the lord of earth! The noble, O'er whom my sway extendeth, love I. Oh, grant me, God in Heaven, that I may ne'er Dispense with loftiness and love!
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/In Absence

IN ABSENCE.
And shall I then regain thee never? My beautiful! And art thou flown? Still in my ears resounds for ever Thy every word, thy every tone.
As through the air, when morn is springing, The wanderer peers in vain, to trace The lark, that o'er him high is singing, Hid in the azure depth of space;
So, love, through field and forest lonely My sad eyes roam in quest of thee; My songs are tuned to thee, thee only; Oh, come, my own love, back to me!
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/In Summer

IN SUMMER.
How plain and height With dewdrops are bright! How pearls have crowned The plants all around! How sighs the breeze Through thicket and trees! How loudly in the sun's clear rays The sweet birds carol forth their lays!
But, ah! above, When saw I my love, Within her room, Small, mantled in gloom, Enclosed around, Where sunlight was drowned, How little then was earth to me, With all its beauteous majesty!
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/Huntsman's Evening Song

HUNTSMAN'S EVENING SONG.
In silence sad, from heath to hill With rifle slung I glide. But thy dear shape, it haunts me still, It hovers by my side.
Across the brook, and past the mill, I watch thee gaily fleet; Ah, does one shape, that ne'er is still, E'er cross thy fancy, sweet?
'Tis his, who, tortured by unrest, Roams ever to and fro, Now ranging east, now ranging west, Since forced from thee to go.
And yet at times the thought of thee, Like moonlight in a dream, Doth bring, I know not how, to me Content and peace supreme.
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/Idyll

IDYLL.
A village Chorus is supposed to be assembled, and about to commence its festive procession.
[Written for the birthday of the Duchess Louisa of Weimar.]
CHORUS.
The festal day hail ye With garlands of pleasure, And dances' soft measure, With rapture commingled And sweet choral song.
DAMON.
Oh, how I yearn from out the crowd to flee! What joy a secret glade would give to me! Amid the throng, the turmoil here, Confined the plain, the breezes e'en appear.
CHORUS.
Now order it truly, That ev'ry one duly ​May roam and may wander, Now here and now yonder, The meadows along.
[The Chorus retreats gradually, and the song becomes fainter and fainter, till it dies away in the distance.]
DAMON.
In vain ye call, in vain would lure me on; True my heart speaks, but with itself alone. And if I may view A blessing-fraught land. The heaven's clear blue, And the plain's verdant hue, Alone I'll rejoice, Undisturbed by man's voice. And there I'll pay homage To womanly merit. Observe it in spirit. In spirit pay homage; To echo alone Shall my secret be known.
CHORUS.
[Faintly mingling with Damon's song in the distance.]
To echo—alone— Shall my secret—be known.
MENALCAS.
My friend, why meet I here with thee? Thou hastenest not to join the festal throng? No longer stay, but come with me, And mingle in the dance and song.
DAMON.
Thou'rt welcome, friend! but suffer me to roam Where these old beeches hide me from man's view; Love seeks in solitude a home, And homage may retreat there, too.
MENALCAS.
Thou seekest here a spurious fame, And hast a mind to-day to grieve me. Love as thy portion thou may'st claim. But homage thou must share with all, believe me!
When their voices thousands raise, And the dawn of morning praise, Rapture bringing, Blithely singing On before us. Heart and ear in pleasure vie;
And when thousands join in chorus, With feelings brightly glowing, And the wishes overflowing, Forcibly they'll bear thee high.
[The Chorus gradually approaches from the distance.]
DAMON.
Distant strains are hither wending, And I'm gladdened by the throng; Yes, they're coming,—yes, descending To the valley from the height.
MENALCAS.
Let us haste, our footsteps blending With the rhythm of the song! Yes, they come; their course they're bending Toward the wood's green sward so bright.
CHORUS,
[Gradually becoming louder.]
Yes, we hither come, attending With the harmony of song, As the hours their race are ending On this day of blest delight.
ALL.
Let none reveal The thoughts we feel, The aims we own! Let joy alone Disclose the story! She'll prove it right And her delight Includes the glory, Includes the bliss Of days like this!