OpenLLM-France/wikimedia huggingface dataset:
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 19/From Jonathan Swift to William Temple - 1

TO SIR WILLIAM TEMPLE.
DUBLIN,
THAT I might not continue the many troubles I have given you, I have all this while avoided one, which I fear proves necessary at last. I have taken all due methods to be ordained, and one time of ordination is already elapsed since my arrival for effecting it. Two or three bishops, acquaintance of our family, have signified to me and them, that after so long standing in the university, it is admired I have not entered upon something or other, (above half the clergy in this town being my juniors,) and that it being so many years since I left this kingdom, they could not admit me to the ministry without some certificate of my behaviour where I lived; and my lord archbishop of Dublin was pleased to say a great deal of this kind to me yesterday; concluding against all I had to say, that he expected I should have a ​certificate from your honour of my conduct in your family. The sence I am in, how low I am fallen in your honour's thoughts, has denied me assurance enough to beg this favour, till I find it impossible to avoid: and I entreat your honour to understand, that no person is admitted here to a living, without some knowledge of his abilities for it: which it being reckoned impossible to judge in those who are not ordained, the usual method is to admit men first to some small reader's place, till, by preaching upon occasions, they can value themselves for better preferment. This (without great friends) is so general, that if I were fourscore years old I must go the same way, and should at that age be told, every one must have a beginning. I entreat that your honour will consider this, and will please to send me some certificate of my behaviour during almost three years in your family; wherein I shall stand in need of all your goodness to excuse my many weaknesses and oversights, much more to say any thing to my advantage. The particulars expected of me are what relate to morals and learning, and the reasons of quitting your honour's family, that is, whether the last was occasioned by any ill actions. They are all left entirely to your honour's mercy, though in the first I think I cannot reproach myself any farther than for infirmities.
This is all I dare beg at present from your honour, under circumstances of life not worth your regard: what is left me to wish (next to the health and prosperity of your honour and family) is, that Heaven would one day allow me the opportunity of leaving my acknowledgments at your feet for so many favours I have received; which, whatever effect they have ​ had upon my fortune, shall never fail to have the greatest upon my mind, in approving myself, upon all occasions, your honour's most obedient and most dutiful servant, etc.
I beg my most humble duty and service be presented to my ladies, your honour's lady and sister.
The ordination is appointed by the archbishop by the beginning of November; so that, if your honour will not grant this favour immediately, I fear it will come too late.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 19/From Jonathan Swift to William Richardson - 1

TO W. RICHARDSON, ESQ.
I COULD never believe Mrs. Whiteway's gasconades in telling me of her acquaintance with you. But my age and perpetual disorders, and chiefly my vexatious deafness, with other infirmities, have completed the utter loss of my memory; so that I cannot recollect the names of those friends who come to see me twice or oftener every week. However, I remember to wish you a long lasting joy of being no longer a bachelor, especially because the teaser ​ at my elbow assures me that the lady is altogether worthy to be your wife. I therefore command you both (if I live so long) to attend me at the deanery the day after you land; where Mrs. Precipitate, alias Whiteway, says I will give you a scandalous dinner. I suppose you will see your governor my old friend John Barber, whom I heartily love; and so you are to tell him. I am, dear sir, your most obedient and obliged servant,
JONATH. SWIFT.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 19/From M. Davys to Jonathan Swift - 1

FROM THE HON. MISS DAVYS.
I KNOW you are always pleased to do acts of charity, which encourages me to take the liberty of recommending a boy about ten years old, the bearer of this, to your goodness, to beg you would employ it in getting him put into the Bluecoat hospital. I received the enclosed letter from him this morning. Your compliance with this request, and pardon for this trouble, will oblige, sir, your most humble and most obedient servant,
M. DAVYS.
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 1/Book 1

Book I.
* Chapter 1
* Chapter 2
* Chapter 3
* Chapter 4
* Chapter 5
* Chapter 6
* Chapter 7
* Chapter 8
* Chapter 9
* Chapter 10
* Chapter 11
* Chapter 12
* Chapter 13
* Chapter 14
* Chapter 15
* Chapter 16
* Chapter 17
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe

* Volume 1 – Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship, volume 1. (transcription project)
* Volume 2 – Wilhelm Meister’s Apprenticeship, volume 2. (transcription project)
* Volume 3 – William Meister’s Travels; The Recreations of the German Emigrants. (transcription project)
* Volume 4 – Truth and Fiction Relating to My Life, volume 1. (transcription project)
* Volume 5 – Truth and Fiction Relating to My Life, volume 2. (transcription project)
* Volume 6 – The Sorrows of Young Werther; Elective Affinities; The Good Woman; A Tale. (transcription project)
* Volume 7 – Faust, volume 1. (transcription project)
* Volume 8 – Faust, volume 2; Clavigo; Egmont; The Wayward Lover. (transcription project)
* Volume 9 – Poems.
* Volume 10 – Poems 2: (Hermann and Dorothea; West-Eastern Divan); Reynard the Fox. (transcription project)
* Volume 11 – Dramas: Iphigenia in Tauris; Torquato Tasso; Goetz von Berlichingen; The Fellow Culprits. (transcription project)
* Volume 12 – Letters from Switzerland; Letters from Italy. (transcription project)
* Volume 13 – Biography, volume 1. (transcription project)
* Volume 14 – Biography, volume 2. (transcription project)
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 Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 1

WILHELM MEISTER'S APPRENTICESHIP
Volume I
"Wilhelm still held that lovely hand"
Photogravure from a painting by C. Schweninger
The Works of J. W. von Goethe
With His Life by GEORGE HENRY LEWES
Edited by NATHAN HASKELL DOLE
Translations by SIR WALTER SCOTT, SIR THEODORE MARTIN JOHN OXENFORD, THOMAS CARLYLE AND OTHERS
In Fourteen Volumes Volume I.
PUBLISHED BY
FRANCIS A. NICCOLLS & CO.
LONDON AND BOSTON
Lyceum Edition
Limited to 750 Numbered and Registered Sets for America
Copy 232
Oxford Press
Contents
| | PAGE |
| Editor's Introduction | vii |
| To the Reader | xv |
| Translator's Preface | xix |
| Book I. | 1 |
| Book II. | 89 |
| Book III. | 175 |
| Book IV. | 249 |
List of Illustrations
| | PAGE |
| "Wilhelm still held that lovely hand" (see page 246) | Frontispiece |
| "'I look down between the pieces of board'" | 22 |
| "'I shall laugh for ever'" | 120 |
| "Dost know the land where citrons, lemons, grow?" | 177 |
| "He was wont to make them read" | 339 |
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Dr. Delany to Dr. Swift to Be Admitted to Speak to Him

The next poem, The Answer, is a response to this poem.
Sent by Dr. DELANY to Dr. SWIFT,
IN ORDER TO BE ADMITTED TO SPEAK TO HIM, WHEN HE WAS DEAF, 1724.
DEAR sir, I think 'tis doubly hard, Your ears and doors should both be barr'd. Can any thing be more unkind? Must I not see, 'cause you are blind? Methinks a friend at night should cheer you, A friend that loves to see and hear you. Why am I robb'd of that delight, When you can be no loser by't? Nay, when 'tis plain (for what is plainer?) That, if you heard, you'd be no gainer? ​For sure you are not yet to learn, That hearing is not your concern. Then be your doors no longer barr'd Your business, sir, is to be heard.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Dr. Swift to Mr. Pope While He Was Writing the Dunciad

DR. SWIFT TO MR. POPE,
WHILE HE WAS WRITING THE DUNCIAD. 1727.
POPE has the talent well to speak, But not to reach the ear; His loudest voice is low and weak, The dean too deaf to hear.
A while they on each other look, Then different studies choose; The dean sits plodding on a book; Pope walks, and courts the Muse. ​Now backs of letters, though design'd For those who more will need 'em, Are fill'd with hints, and interlin'd, Himself can hardly read 'em.
Each atom by some other struck All turns and motions tries: Till, in a lump together stuck, Behold a poem rise:
Yet to the dean his share allot; He claims it by a canon; That without which a thing is not, Is, causa sine quâ non.
Thus, Pope, in vain you boast your wit; For, had our deaf divine Been for your conversation fit, You had not writ a line.
Of Sherlock thus, for preaching fam'd, The sexton reason'd well; And justly half the merit claim'd, Because he rang the bell.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Epigram from the French

EPIGRAM. From the French.
WHO can believe with common sense, A bacon slice gives God offence; Or, how a herring has a charm Almighty vengeance to disarm? Wrapp'd up in Majesty divine, Does he regard on what we dine?
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Dr. Swift's Answer

This poem is a response to the previous poem, On a very old Glass at Market Hill.
ANSWERED EXTEMPORE BY DR. SWIFT.
ME only chance can kill; thou, frailer creature, May'st die, like me, by chance; but must by nature.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Dr. Sheridan's Answer

This poem is a response to the previous poem, To Dr. Sheridan, and led to the next poem, Dr. Swift's Reply, in response.
DR. SHERIDAN'S ANSWER.
I'D have you to know, as sure as you're dean, On Thursday my cask of Obrien I'll drain: If my wife is not willing, I say she's a quean; And my right to the cellar, egad, I'll maintain As bravely as any that fought at Dunblain; Go tell her it over and over again. I hope, as I ride to the town, it won't rain; For, should it, I fear it will cool my hot brain, Entirely extinguish my poetick vein; ​And then I should be as stupid as Kain, Who preach'd on three heads, though he mention'd but twain. Now Wardel's in haste, and begins to complain; Your most humble servant, dear sir, I remain,
T. S—n.
Get Helsham, Walmsley, Delany, And some Grattans, if there be any; Take care you do not bid too many.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Dr. Swift's Reply

This poem is a response to the previous poem, Dr. Sheridan's Answer.
DR. SWIFT'S REPLY.
THE verses you sent on the bottling your wine Were, in every one's judgment, exceedingly fine; And I must confess, as a dean and divine, I think you inspir'd by the Muses all nine. I nicely examin'd them every line, And the worst of them all like a barndoor did shine, O, that Jove would give me such a talent as thine! With Delany or Dan I would scorn to combine. I know they have many a wicked design; And, give Satan his due, Dan begins to refine. However, I wish, honest comrade of mine, You would really on Thursday leave St. Catharine, Where I hear you are cramm'd every day like a swine; With me you'll no more have a stomach to dine, Nor after your victuals lie sleeping supine: So I wish you were toothless, like lord Masserine. ​But, were you as wicked as lewd Aretine, I wish you would tell me which way you incline. If, when you return, your road you don't line, On Thursday I'll pay my respects at your shrine, Wherever you bend, wherever you twine, In square, or in opposite circle, or trine, Your beef will on Thursday be salter than brine: I hope you have swill'd, with new milk from the kine, As much as the Liffee's outdone by the Rhine; And Dan shall be with us, with nose aquiline. If you do not come back, we shall weep out our eyne: Or may your gown never be good Lutherine. The beef you have got, I hear, is a chine: But, if too many come, your madam will whine; And then you may kiss the low end of her spine. But enough of this poetry Alexandrine: I hope you will not think this a pasquine.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Dr. Swift to Himself on St Cecilia's Day

DR. SWIFT TO HIMSELF,
ON
SAINT CECILIA'S DAY.
GRAVE dean of St. Patrick's, how comes it to pass, That you, who know musick no more than an ass; That you, who so lately were writing of Drapiers, Should lend your cathedral to players and scrapers? To act such an opera once in a year, So offensive to every true protestant ear, With trumpets, and fiddles, and organs, and singing, Will sure the pretender and popery bring in. No protestant prelate, his lordship or grace, Durst there show his right or most reverend face: How would it pollute their crosiers and rochets! To listen to minims, and quavers, and crotchets. [The rest is wanting.]
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Dr. Sheridan's Reply

This is the eighth of twelve poems on the same subject: 1. On Dan Jackson's Picture; 2. On the same; 3. On the same; 4. On the same; 5. Dan Jackson's Defence; 6. Mr. Rochfort's Reply; 7. Dr. Delany's Reply; 8. Sheridan's Reply; 9. A Rejoinder, by the Dean; 10. Another Rejoinder, by the Dean; 11. Sheridan's Submission, by the Dean; and 12. To the Rev. Daniel Jackson.
SHERIDAN'S REPLY.
THREE merry lads you own we are; 'Tis very true, and free from care, But envious we cannot bear, believe, sir:
For, were all forms of beauty thine, Were you like Nereus soft and fine, We should not in the least repine, or grieve, sir.
Then know from us, most beauteous Dan, That roughness best becomes a man; 'Tis women should be pale and wan, and taper;
And all your trifling beaux and fops, Who comb their brows, and sleek their chops, Are but the offspring of toyshops, mere vapour.
We know your morning hours you pass To cull and gather out a face; Is this the way you take your glass? Forbear it:
Those loads of paint upon your toilet, Will never mend your face, but spoil it, It looks as if you did parboil it: Drink claret.
Your cheeks, by sleeking, are so lean, That they're like Cynthia in the wane, Or breast of goose when 'tis pick'd clean, or pullet: ​See what by drinking you have done: You've made your phiz a skeleton, From the long distance of your crown, t' your gullet.
# The Works of the Rev. Jonathan Swift/Volume 7/Dr. Sheridan to Dr. Swift

This poem is a response to the previous poem, To Dr. Sheridan , and led to the next poem, The Dean's Answer, in response.
DR. SHERIDAN TO DR. SWIFT. 1719.
DEAR Dean, since in cruxes and puns you and I deal, Pray why is a woman a sieve and a riddle? 'Tis a thought that came into my noddle this morning, In bed as I lay, Sir, a tossing and turning. You'll find, if you read but a few of your histories, All women, as Eve, all women are mysteries. To find out this riddle I know you'll be eager, And make every one of the sex a Belphegor. But that will not do, for I mean to commend them: I swear without jest I an honour intend them. In a sieve, sir, their ancient extraction I quite tell, In a riddle I give you their power and their title. This I told you before: do you know what I mean, sir? "Not I, by my troth, sir." — Then read it again, sir. The reason I send you these lines of rhymes double Is purely through pity, to save you the trouble Of thinking two hours for a rhyme as you did last, When your Pegasus canter'd in triple, and rid fast. As for my little nag, which I keep at Parnassus, With Phœbus's leave, to run with his asses, He goes slow and sure, and he never is jaded, While your fiery steed is whipp'd, spurr'd, bastinaded.
# The World Factbook (1990)/Glorioso Islands

pages 117–118
​ Glorioso Islands (French possession)
See regional map VII
Geography
Total area: 5 km²; land area: 5 km²; includes Île Glorieuse, Île du Lys, Verte Rocks, Wreck Rock, and South Rock
Comparative area: about 8.5 times the size of The Mall in Washington, DC
Land boundaries: none
Coastline: 35.2 km
Maritime claims:
    Contiguous zone: 12 nm
    Continental shelf: 200 meters or to depth of exploitation
    Extended economic zone 200 nm
    Territorial sea: 12 nm
Disputes: claimed by Madagascar
Climate: tropical
Terrain: undetermined
Natural resources: guano, coconuts
Land use: 0% arable land; 0% permanent crops; 0% meadows and pastures; 0% forest and woodland; 100% other lush vegetation and coconut palms
Environment: subject to periodic cyclones
Note: located in the Indian Ocean just north of the Mozambique Channel between Africa and Madagascar
People
Population: uninhabited
Government
Long-form name: none
Type: French possession administered by Commissioner of the Republic Daniel CONSTANTIN, resident in Reunion
Economy
Overview: no economic activity
Communications
Airports: 1 with runway 1,220-2,439 m
Ports: none; offshore anchorage only
Defense Forces
Note: defense is the responsibility of France
# The duties of the Wind are few

The duties of the Wind are few, To cast the ships, at Sea, Establish March, the Floods escort, And usher Liberty.
The pleasures of the Wind are broad, To dwell Extent among, Remain, or wander, Speculate, or Forests entertain.
The kinsmen of the Wind are Peaks Azof — the Equinox, Also with Bird and Asteroid A bowing intercourse.
The limitations of the Wind Do he exist, or die, Too wise he seems for Wakelessness, However, know not i.
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/The Muses' Son

THE MUSES' SON.
[Goethe quotes the beginning of this song in his Autobiography, as expressing the manner in which his poetical effusions used to pour out from him.]
Through field and wood to stray And pipe my tuneful lay,— 'Tis thus my days are passed; And all keep tune with me, And move on in harmony, And so on, to the last.
To wait I scarce have power The garden's earliest flower. The tree's first bloom in spring; They hail my joyous strain,— When winter comes again, Of that sweet dream I sing.
My song sounds far and near, O'er ice it echoes clear, Then winter blossoms bright; And when his blossoms fly, Fresh raptures meet mine eye, Upon the well-tilled height.
​When 'neath the linden-tree, Young folks I chance to see, I set them moving soon; His nose the dull lad curls, The formal maiden whirls, Obedient to my tune.
Wings to the feet ye lend, O'er hill and vale ye send The lover far from home; When shall I, on your breast, Ye kindly Muses, rest, And cease at length to roam?
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/The Park

THE PARK.
How beautiful! A garden fair is heaven, Flowers of all hues, and smiling in the sun, Where all was waste and wilderness before. Well do ye imitate, ye gods of earth, The great Creator. Rock, and lake, and glade, Birds, fishes, and untamed beasts are here. Your work were all an Eden but for this— Here is no man unconscious of a pang, No perfect Sabbath of unbroken rest.
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/The Prosperous Voyage

THE PROSPEROUS VOYAGE.
The mist is fast clearing. And radiant is heaven, Whilst Æolus loosens Our anguish-fraught bond. The zephyrs are sighing, Alert is the sailor. Quick! nimbly be plying! The billows are riven, The distance approaches; I see land beyond!
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/The Muses' Mirror

THE MUSES' MIRROR.
Early one day, the Muse, when eagerly bent on adornment, Followed a swift-running streamlet, the quietest nook by it seeking. Quickly and noisily flowing, the changeful surface distorted Ever her moving form; the goddess departed in anger. Yet the stream called mockingly after her, saying: "What, truly! Wilt thou not view, then, the truth, in my mirror so clearly depicted?" But she already was far away, on the brink of the ocean, In her figure rejoicing, and duly arranging her garland.
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/The Rat-Catcher

THE RAT-CATCHER.
I am the bard known far and wide, The travelled rat-catcher beside; A man most needful to this town, So glorious through its old renown. However many rats I see, How many weasels there may be, I cleanse the place from every one, All needs but helter-skelter run.
Sometimes the bard so full of cheer As a child-catcher will appear, Who e'en the wildest captive brings, Whene'er his golden tales he sings. However proud each boy in heart, However much the maidens start, I bid the chords sweet music make, And all must follow in my wake.
Sometimes the skilful bard ye view In form of maiden-catcher, too; For he no city enters e'er, Without effecting wonders there. However coy may be each maid, Howe'er the women seem afraid, Yet all will love-sick be ere long To sound of magic lute and song.
[Da Capo.]
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/The Page and the Miller's Daughter

THE PAGE AND THE MILLER'S DAUGHTER
PAGE.
Where goest thou? Where? Miller's daughter so fair! Thy name, pray?—
MILLER'S DAUGHTER.
'Tis Lizzy.
PAGE.
Where goest thou? Where? With the rake in thy hand?
MILLER'S DAUGHTER.
Father's meadows and land To visit, I'm busy.
PAGE.
Dost go there alone?
MILLER'S DAUGHTER
By this rake, sir, 'tis shown That we're making the hay; And the pears ripen fast In the garden at last, So I'll pick them to-day.
PAGE.
Is't a silent thicket I yonder view?
MILLER'S DAUGHTER
Oh, yes! there are two; There's one on each side.
PAGE.
I'll follow thee soon; When the sun burns at noon, We'll go there, ourselves from his rays to hide, And then in some glade all-verdant and deep—
MILLER'S DAUGHTER
Why, people would say—
PAGE.
Within mine arms thou gently wilt sleep.
MILLER'S DAUGHTER.
Your pardon, I pray! Whoever is kissed by the miller-maid, Upon the spot must needs be betrayed. 'Twould give me distress To cover with white Your pretty dark dress.
​Equal with equal! then all is right! That's the motto in which I delight. I am in love with the miller-boy; He wears nothing that I could destroy.
# The Works of J. W. von Goethe/Volume 9/The Parting

THE PARTING.
Let mine eyes the farewell make thee Which my lips refuse to speak; Scorn me not, if to forsake thee Makes my very manhood weak.
Joyless in our joy's eclipse, love, Are love's tokens, else divine, Cold the kisses of thy lips, love, Damp the hand that's locked in mine.
Once thy lip, to touch it only, To my soul has sent a thrill, Sweeter than the violet lonely, Plucked in March-time by the rill.
​Garlands never more I'll fashion, Roses twine no more for thee; Spring is here, but, ah, my passion, Autumn dark has come for me!