OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# Petition of John Wilkes to the House of Lords, 1768

Orignal is hand-written
​To the Right Honourable the Lords Spiritual and Temporal in Parliament Assembled
The Humble Petition of John Wilkes Esquire
Sheweth
That your Petitioner hath lately brought two Writs of Error in this Honourable House for the reversing (illegible text) Two Judgements Obtained against him in his Majestys Court of Kings Bench or two Informations and that your Petitioner is now a prisoner in the Kings Bench Prison.
That your Petitioner hath Assigned Errors upon the said Judgments and the Attorney General for our lord the King hath Rejoined thereto.
That the said Attorney General hath Petitioned this House for a Short day for the Arguing the said Errors And your Lordships have been Pleased to Appoint Wednesday next.
That your Petitioner is advised it will be necessary for him to Attend this Hon'ble house on the Arguing the said Errors to be ready to Instruct his Councel therein (if Occasion should require.)
Your Petitioner therefore most Humbly prays your Lordships to Order the Marshal of the Kings Bench Prison to bring your Petitioner on Wednesday next to the Bar of this Honourable house that he may be present to Instruct his Councel (if Occasion should require) upon the Arguing the said Errors
And your Petitioner shall ever pray
John Wilkes
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
# Petition of Boyer and Another for a Writ of Prohibition

* related portals: Supreme Court of the United States.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
United States Supreme Court
109 U.S. 629
Petition of Boyer and Another for a Writ of Prohibition
Robert Rae, for petitioners.
C. E. Kremer, for respondents.
BLATCHFORD, 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
# Petition from women of Brookline, Massachusetts, praying that the gag rule be rescinded

​To the Honorable the House of Representatives of the United States.
The undersigned Women of Brookline in the Commonwealth of Massachusetts have learned with astonishment and alarm, that your honorable body did, on the 21st of December last, adopt a resolution in the words following, to wit:
'Resolved, That all memorials, petitions, and papers, touching the abolition of slavery, or the buying, selling or transfer of slaves in any State, territory, or district of the United States, shall be laid on the table, without reading, or reference, or printing, and that no further action whatever shall be had thereon.' being debated printed read or referred, & that no further action whatever shall be had thereon
Your memorialists 'consider this resolution a violation of the Constitution of the United States—of the right of the people of the United States to petition—and of the right of their Representatives to freedom of speech as members of your honorable body:' They further regard it as an assumption of authority, at once dangerous and destructive to the fundamental principles of republican government, to the rights of minorities, to the sovereignty of the People, and TO THE UNION OF THESE UNITED STATES: They therefore present this their solemn and earnest remonstrance against said resolution, and respectfully ask your honorable body to IMMEDIATELY RESCIND IT.
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
# Pieces People Ask For/After "Taps"

AFTER "TAPS."
Tramp! tramp! tramp! tramp!
As I lay with my blanket on,
By the dim firelight, in the moonlit night,
When the skirmishing fight was done.
The measured beat of the sentry's feet,
With the jingling scabbard's ring!
Tramp! tramp! in my meadow-camp
By the Shenandoah's spring!
The moonlight seems to shed cold beams
On a row of pale grave-stones:
Give the bugle breath, and that image of Death
Will fly from the reveille's tones.
By each tented roof, a charger's hoof
Makes the frosty hillside ring:
Give the bugle breath, and a spirit of Death
To each horse's girth will spring.
Tramp! tramp! tramp! tramp!
The sentry before my tent,
Guards in gloom his chief, for whom
Its shelter to-night is lent.
I am not there. On the hillside bare
I think of the ghost within;
Of the brave who died at my sword-hand side,
To-day, 'mid the horrible din
Of shot and shell, and the infantry yell,
As we charged with the sabre drawn.
To my heart I said, "Who shall be the dead
In my tent at another dawn?"
I thought of a blossoming almond-tree,
The stateliest tree that I know;
Of a golden bowl; of a parted soul;
And a lamp that is burning low.
Oh, thoughts that kill! I thought of the hill
In the far-off Jura chain;
Of the two, the three, o'er the wide salt sea,
Whose hearts would break with pain;
Of my pride and joy—my eldest boy;
Of my darling, the second—in years;
Of Willie, whose face with its pure, mild grace,
Melts memory into tears;
Of their mother, my bride, by the Alpine lake's side,
And the angels asleep in her arms;
Love, Beauty, and Truth, which she brought to my youth,
In that sweet April day of her charms.
"Halt! Who comes there?" The cold midnight air,
And the challenging word, chills me through:
The ghost of a fear whispers, close to my ear,
"Is peril, love, coming to you?"
The hoarse answer, "Relief," makes the shade of a grief
Die away, with the step on the sod.
A kiss melts in air, while a tear and a prayer
Confide my beloved to God.
Tramp! tramp! tramp! tramp!
With a solemn pendulum-swing !
Though I slumber all night, the fire burns bright,
And my sentinels' scabbards ring.
"Boot and saddle!" is sounding. Our pulses are bounding.
"To horse!" and I touch with my heel
Black Gray in the flanks, and ride down the ranks,
With my heart, like my sabre, of steel.
Horace Binney Sargent.
# Pieces People Ask For/A Little Peach

A LITTLE PEACH.
A little peach in an orchard grew,—
A little peach of emerald hue;
Warmed by the sun and wet by the dew,
It grew.
One day, passing the orchard through,
That little peach dawned on the view
Of Johnny Jones and his sister Sue.
Them two.
Up at the peach a club they threw:
Down from the stem on which it grew
Fell the little peach of emerald hue.
Brand New!
She took a bite, and John a chew;
And then the trouble began to brew,—
Trouble the doctor couldn't subdue.
Too true!
Under the turf where the daisies grew,
They planted John and his sister Sue,
And their little souls to the angels flew.
Boo-hoo!
But what of the peach of emerald hue,
Warmed by the sun and wet by the dew?
Ah, well, its mission on earth is through.
Adieu !
# Pieces People Ask For/A Lesson to Lovers

A LESSON TO LOVERS.
She, with a milk-pail on her arm,
Turns aside with her young cheeks glowing,
And sees down the lane, the slow, dull tread
Of the drove of cows that are homeward going.
"Bessie," he said: at the sound she turned,
Her blue eyes full of childish wonder:
"My mother is feeble and lame and old—
I need a wife at my farmhouse yonder.
"My heart is lonely, my home is drear:
I need your presence ever near me.
Will you be my guardian angel, dear,
Queen of my household, to guide and cheer me?"
"It has a pleasant sound," she said,—
"A household queen, a guiding spirit,
To warm your heart, and cheer your home,
And keep the sunshine ever near it:
But I am only a simple child,
So my mother says in her daily chiding;
And what must a guardian angel do
When she first begins her work of guiding?"
"Well, first, dear Bessie, a smiling face
Is dearer far than the rarest beauty;
And my mother, fretful, lame, and old,
Will require a daughter's loving duty.
You will see to her flannels, drops, and tea,
And talk with her of lungs and liver:
Give her your cheerful service, dear—
The Lord he loveth a cheerful giver.
"You will see that my breakfast is piping hot,
And rub the clothes to a snowy whiteness;
Make golden butter and snowy rolls,
And polish things to a shining brightness;
Will darn my stockings, and mend my coats,
And see that the buttons are sewed on tightly :
You will keep things cheerful and neat and sweet,
That home's altar-fires may still burn brightly.
"You will read me at evening the daily news,
The tedious winter nights beguiling,
And never forget that the sweetest face
Is a cheerful face that's always smiling.
In short, you'll arrange in a general way
For a sort of sublunary heaven;
For home, dear Bessie, say what we may,
Is the highest sphere to a woman given."
The lark sang out to the bending sky,
The bobolink piped in the nodding rushes,
And out of the tossing clover-blooms
Came the sweet, clear song of the meadow-thrushes.
And Bessie, listening, paused a while,
Then said, with a sly glance at her neighbor,
"But John—do you mean—that is to say,
What shall I get for all this labor?
"To be nurse, companion, and servant girl,
To make home's altar-fires burn brightly;
To wash and iron and scrub and cook,
And always be cheerful, neat, and sprightly;
To give up liberty, home, and friends,
Nay, even the name of a mother's giving,—
To do all this for one's board and clothes,
Why, the life of an angel isn't worth living!"
And Bessie gayly went her way
Down through the fields of scented clover,
But never again since that summer day
Has she won a glance from her rustic lover.
The lark sings out to the bending sky,
The clouds sail on as white as ever;
The clovers toss in the summer wind,
But Bessie has lost that chance forever.
# Pieces People Ask For/A Lost Child

A LOST CHILD.
"I'm losted! Could you find me, please?" Poor little frightened baby! The wind had tossed her golden fleece,
The stones had scratched her dimpled knees;
I stooped, and lifted her with ease,
And softly whispered, "Maybe."
"Tell me your name, my little maid:
I can't find you without it."
"My name is Shiny-eyes," she said.
"Yes; but your last name?" She shook her head:
"Up to my house 'ey never said
A single word about it."
"But, dear," I said, "what is your name?"
"Why, didn't you hear me told you?
Dust Shiny-eyes." A bright thought came:
"Yes, when you're good. But when they blame
You, little one,—is it just the same
When mamma has to scold you?"
"My mamma never scolds," she moans,
A little blush ensuing,
"'Cept when I've been a-frowing stones;
And then she says [the culprit owns],—
'Mehitabel Sapphira Jones,
What has you been a-doing?'"
Anna F. Burnham.
# Pieces People Ask For/A Tough Customer

A TOUGH CUSTOMER.
Let me tell you a tale that was once told to me;
And although it was told me in prose at the time,
I will give it a metrical dressing, and see
If the story will lose any reason by rhyme.
There came to the store in a village, one day,
A long and lank stranger in homespun arrayed;
And "Good-mornin'," said he in a diffident way,
"I've jes' come up to town for a bit of a trade."
The proprietor nodded, and cheerily spoke,— "Well, what can I do for you, neighbor, and how?"
"Wal, one of wife's knittin'-needles ez broke,
An' she wants me to git one—how much be they, now?"
"They're two cents apiece."—"Wal, say, mister, look here:
I've got a fresh egg, an' my wife sez to me,
'Swap the egg for the needle;' it seems a bit queer.
But the thing's about even—it's a big un, yer see."
Said the storekeeper presently, "Well, I don't mind."
He laid down the needle, and put the egg by—
When the countryman blurted out, "Ain't yer inclined
To treat a new customer? Fact is, I'm dry."
Though staggered a little, it must be confessed,
By the "customer" coming it rather too free,
Yet, smilingly granting the modest request,
The dealer responded, "Well, what shall it be?"
"Wal, a drop of Madairy I reckon 'ul pass;
I've been used ter thet, see, ever since I was born."
The storekeeper handed a bottle and glass,
And his customer poured out a generous horn.
For a moment he eyed the gratuitous dram
With the air of a man who must something resign;
Then blandly remarked, "Do you know that I am
Very partial to mixing an egg in my wine?"
"Oh, well, let us finish this matter, I beg :
You're very particular, though, I must say,"
The storekeeper muttered, and handed an egg—
The identical one he had taken in pay.
On the rim of the tumbler the man broke the shell—
"It's cert'inly handsome, the way yer treat folk:"
He opened it deftly, and plumply it fell
With a splash, and no wonder — it held double yolk!
The customer saw, and a long breath he drew:
"Look, mister, that egg has two yolks, I declare!
Instead of one needle, I've paid yer for two,
So hand me another, an' then we'll be square!"
William L. Keese, in Our Continent.
# Pindar and Anacreon/Pindar/Pythian Odes/7

* related portals: Odes of Pindar.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
Celebrating the victory of Megacles of Athens in the Pythian Games of 486 B. C..
"The inner number, placed at the end of the several paragraphs, shows the corresponding line of the original." [ note on p. 17 ]
Layout 2
THE SEVENTH PYTHIAN ODE.
TO MEGACLES THE ATHENIAN, ON HIS VICTORY WITH THE QUADRIGÆ, GAINED IN THE TWENTY-EIGHTH PYTHIAD.
ARGUMENT.
This short ode opens with an address to Athens, whence the victor derives a great portion of his fame, tracing his lineage to Alcmæon; his triumphs in the different games of Greece are enumerated.—The poet expresses his concern that the happiness of Megacles should be diminished by the envy of his rivals, and the mutability of human fortune, which, however, affects all men alike.
The fairest prelude to my strain Athena's noble walls contain; Whence struck, thy steeds the lyre shall grace, That hymns Alcmæon's potent race. What house, what country shall I name 5 Through Greece of more illustrious fame, When all the various cities round Erectheus' townsmen's praise resound? 7
They who in Pytho the divine, Apollo, rear'd thy wondrous shrine. 10 Five triumphs in the Isthmian field Urge me the lyric song to yield— Oh Megacles! one glorious crown, In Jove's Olympic strife obtain'd, And two from Cirrha's sacred town, 15 By thee and thy forefathers gain'd. 16
I joy that merited success Should all thy recent efforts bless. ​But I lament that envy's cloud Must thy victorious actions shroud. 20 Yet such they say is man—whose fate By weal or wo is checker'd still; No constant happiness his state Attends without approaching ill. 23
# Plays of Roswitha (1923)

* related portals: Drama.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
Layout 2
THE PLAYS OF ROSWITHA TRANSLATED BY CHRISTOPHER ST. JOHN WITH AN INTRODUCTION BY CARDINAL GASQUET AND A CRITICAL PREFACE BY THE TRANSLATOR
CHATTO & WINDUS: LONDON 1923
ROSWITHA PRESENTING HER PANEGYRIC OF OTHO THE GREAT TO OTHO II IN THE PRESENCE OF THE ABBESS GERBERG.
From the woodcut by Dürer.
CONTENTS
| | PAGE |
| INTRODUCTION | vii |
| THE PLAYS OF ROSWITHA | xiv |
| THE PREFACES OF ROSWITHA | xxvi |
| GALLICANUS | 1 |
| DULCITIUS | 33 |
| CALLIMACHUS | 49 |
| ABRAHAM | 69 |
| PAPHNUTIUS | 93 |
| SAPIENTIA | 131 |
| NOTE ON THE ACTING OF THE PLAYS | 159 |
The works consulted include the following:
Hrotsvithæ Opera: Edited by H. L. Schurzfleisch.
Hrotsvithæ Opera: Edited by Conrad Celtes (Nürnberg, 1501).
Patrologiæ Cursus Completus: J. P. Migne (vol. 137).
Abraham: Translated into French by C. Cuzin, with critical preface.
Théâtre de Roswitha: Charles Magnin.
Origines du théâtre Moderne: Charles Magnin.
Antiquitates Gandersheimensis: Leuckfeld.
I am much indebted to Dame Laurentia McLachlan, O.S.B., Superioress of Stanbrook Abbey, and to the Reverend Paul Bonnet of Lyons University, for assistance in the work of translation.—Christopher St. John.
THE MEDIEVAL LIBRARY UNDER THE GENERAL EDITORSHIP OF SIR ISRAEL GOLLANCZ, Litt.D., F.B.A.
PRINTED IN ENGLAND AT THE BALLANTYNE PRESS SPOTTISWOODE, BALLANTYNE & CO. LTD. COLCHESTER, LONDON & ETON
This work is a translation and has a separate copyright status to the applicable copyright protections of the original content.
# Poems (Bacon)

POEMS
JOSEPHINE
DASKAM
POEMS
BY
JOSEPHINE DASKAM
NEW YORK
CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
MDCCCCIII
COPYRIGHT, 1903, BY CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS
PUBLISHED OCTOBER, 1903
D. B. UPDIKE, THE MERRYMOUNT PRESS, BOSTON
TO
M. A. J.,
the first and cordial critic of many of these verses, it gives me great pleasure to dedicate this collection of them.
J.D.B.
CONTENTS
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
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
# Once a Week (magazine)/Series 1/Volume 8/La Belle Dangerose

LA BELLE DANGEROSE.
In the time of Hugh, thirty-seventh Bishop of Mons (for such is the species of date which is given to the tale), Dangerose, a lady so fair that she was commonly styled “La Belle Fille,” or “La Belle Nymphe,” resided at the Castle of Chemiré le Gaudin, in Maine, a building which to this day has retained the name of “Le Château de Belle Fille.” The lady was courted by Damase, lord of Asnieres, but as he was too near of kin to obtain her hand in marriage, the lady’s delicacy yielded to her attachment. The pious bishop, after in vain attempting to dissolve the union, launched the bolts of excommunication in the most awful manner, with bell, book, and candle, against the seducer. But Damase, who seems to have been much too powerful a baron to care for the terrors of religion, ridiculed the good prelate’s menaces, and answered vauntingly, that “fire and water would stand him in stead as much as ever, in spite of the bishop.” The prelate in his turn replied, that “fire and water would avenge the cause of Heaven on the haughty lord within six months, unless he repented.” The baron continued obstinate; but one day as he was hawking, a violent storm came on, and he found himself obliged to betake himself, with his falconer, to a little boat, and to seek shelter across the river. A flash of lightning, however, struck him and his vessel, and killed him and his companion, before he had passed the stream. Though the falconer s body was soon found, that of Damase could never be heard of. The fair Dangerose, terrified at the fate of her paramour, straightway threw herself at the feet of Bishop Hugh, lamented her sin, and withdrew to a remote part of her estates where she spent the rest of her long life in unceasing penitence. After this alarming interposition of Providence, the example of Dangerose’s misfortune was in everyone’s mouth, and those who are acquainted with French will know that “Ceci sent la Dangerose” is a natural expression to persons who wish to allude briefly to something involving great peril. The expression no doubt was not long in extending itself to the English provinces in the vicinity of Maine, and hence, probably, are derived the French “dangeroux,” and the English “dangerous.” Let Dr. Johnson’s history of the word “danger” be examined before ​this etymology be condemned. “Danger, n. f. (danger, Fr.) of uncertain derivation. Skinner derives it from damnum; Menage from angaria; Minshew, δανος (θάνατος) death, to which Junius seems inclined.” Let the impartial reader judge between the great critic and the simple solution afforded by the story which I tell as it was told to me.
# Poems (Baldwyn)/Oh, then I think of thee

4
# Poems (Barbauld)/Characters

CHARACTERS.
———— semper amabilem.
Horat.
OH! born to sooth distress, and lighten care;
Lively as soft, and innocent as fair;
Blest with that sweet simplicity of thought
So rarely found, and never to be taught;
Of winning speech, endearing, artless, kind,
The loveliest pattern of a female mind;
Like some fair spirit from the realms of rest
With all her native heaven within her breast;
So pure, so good, she scarce can guess at sin, ​But thinks the world without like that within;
Such melting tenderness, so fond to bless,
Her charity almost becomes excess.
Wealth may be courted, wisdom be rever'd,
And beauty prais'd, and brutal strength be fear'd;
But goodness only can affection move;
And love must owe its origin to love.
Illam quicquid agit, quoquo vestigia flectit,
Componit furtim, subsequiturque decor.
Tibul.
OF gentle manners, and of taste refin'd,
With all the graces of a polish'd mind.
Clear sense and truth still shone in all she spoke, ​And from her lips no idle sentence broke.
Each nicer elegance of art she knew;
Correctly fair, and regularly true.
Her ready fingers plied with equal skill
The pencil's task, the needle, or the quill.
So pois'd her feelings, so compos'd her soul,
So subject all to reason's calm controul,
One only passion, strong, and unconfin'd,
Disturb'd the balance of her even mind:
One passion rul'd despotic in her breast,
In every word, and look, and thought confest:
But that was love, and love delights to bless
The generous transports of a fond excess.
# Poems (Barbauld)

POEMS.
THE THIRD EDITION, CORRECTED.
LONDON:
PRINTED FOR JOSEPH JOHNSON, IN ST, PAUL'S CHURCH-YARD.
MDCCLXXIII.
T O
THE RIGHT HONOURABLE
LADY MARY WEST,
THESE POEMS
ARE RESPECTFULLY INSCRIBED
BY HER LADYSHIP'S OBLIGED
AND MOST OBEDIENT SERVANT,
Warrington, Dec. 1st. 1772. ANNA LÆTITIA AIKIN.
CONTENTS.
Page
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
# Poems (Bibesco)

* related portals: Poetry, English literature.
* sister projects: Wikidata item.
POEMS
By the Same Author
I Have only Myself to Blame
Balloons
The Fir and the Palm
The Whole Story
PLAYS
The Painted Swan
Points of View
IN PREPARATION
There is No Return
POEMS
Elizabeth Bibesco
NEWYORK
GEORGE H. DORAN COMPANY
1927
Made and Printed in Great Britain by
Williamm Brendon & Son, Ltd., Plymouth
TO
MY BELOVED FATHER
* I
* II A letter
* III
* IV Winter
* V
* VI
* VII
* VIII The token
* IX Testament
* X Conceit
* XI Vision
* XII To-gether
* XIII Revenge
* XIV
* XV Sight
* XVI Prayer
* XVII
* XVIII First fear
* XIX Banishment
* XX
* XXI
* XXII
* XXIII
* XXIV
* XXV
* XXVI
* XXVII
* XXVIII
* XXIX
* XXX
* XXXI
* XXXII
* XXXIII
* Sonnet
This work is in the public domain in the United States because it was published before January 1, 1929.
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
# Poems, now first collected/front matter

BOOKS BY MR. STEDMAN
HOUGHTON, MIFFLIN AND COMPANY
BOSTON AND NEW YORK
# Poems: New and Old (Newbolt)/Craven

Craven
(Mobile Bay, 1864)
# Poems: New and Old (Newbolt)/Farewell

VI
Farewell
# Poems: New and Old (Newbolt)/Messmates

Messmates
# Poems: New and Old (Newbolt)/Drake's Drum

Drake's Drum
# Poems: New and Old (Newbolt)/For a Trafalgar Cenotaph

For a Trafalgar Cenotaph
# Poems: New and Old (Newbolt)/Hawke

Hawke
# Poems: New and Old (Newbolt)

POEMS: NEW AND OLD
POEMS: NEW AND OLD
BY HENRY NEWBOLT
LONDON JOHN MURRAY, ALBEMARLE STREET, W. 1919
All Rights Reserved
TO
EDWARD VISCOUNT GREY OF FALLODON, K.G.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
This volume forms a complete collection of all my published work in verse from 1897 to 1918. It includes the contents of five previous volumes: Admirals All (1897), The Island Race (1898), The Sailing of the Long-Ships (1902), Songs of Memory and Hope (1909), and St. George's Day (1918), together with a number of pieces added to the later editions of the first two of these, ten poems first collected in Poems: New and Old (1912), and six which have not hitherto appeared in book form.
H. N.
CONTENTS
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 1938, so this work is in the public domain in countries and areas where the copyright term is the author's life plus 85 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
# Poems: New and Old (Newbolt)/Admirals All

Admirals All
# Our Farm of Two Acres

Article series published in Once a Week, 1859.
* Our Farm of Two Acres—Terrain and Tillage
* Our Farm of Two Acres—Dairy and Bacon
* Our Farm of Two Acres—The Poultry-Yard