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" I love the language, that soft bastard Latin, Which melts like kisses from a female mouth, And sounds as if it should be writ on satin, With syllables which breathe of the sweet south, And gentle liquids gliding all so pat in, That not a single accent... "
The Northern star, or, Yorkshire magazine - Pagina 141
geredigeerd door - 1818
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The Edinburgh Review: Or Critical Journal, Volume 29

1818
...borrow That sort of farthing candlelight which glimmers Where reeking London's smoky cauldron simmers. * I love the language, that soft bastard Latin, Which melts like kisses from a female mouth, And sounds as if it should be writ on satin, With syllables which breathe of the sweet South,...
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The Edinburgh magazine, and literary miscellany, a new series ..., Volumes 1-2

1818
...borrow That sort of farthing candlelight which glimmers Where reeking London's smoky cauldron simmers. " I love the language, that soft bastard Latin, Which melts like kisses from a female mouth, And sounds as if it should be writ on satin, With syllables which breathe of the sweet South,...
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Beppo: A Venetian Story

George Gordon Byron Baron Byron - 1818 - 51 pagina’s
...That sort of farthing candlelight which glimmers Where reeking London's smoky cauldron simmers. XLIV. I love the language, that soft bastard Latin, Which melts like kisses from a female mouth, And sounds as if it should be writ on satin, With syllables which breathe of the sweet South,...
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Robinson's Magazine: A Weekly Repository of Original Papers and ..., Volume 1

1818
...That sort of farthing candlelight which glimmers \Vlierereeking London's smoky cauldron simmers. XLI. I love the language, that soft bastard Latin, Which melts like kisses from a female mouth, And sounds a* if it should be writ on satin. With syllables which breathe of the sweet South,...
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The works of ... lord Byron, Volumes 7-8

George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) - 1819
...That sort of farthing candlelight which glimmers Where reeking London's smoky cauldron simmers, XLIV. I love the language , that soft bastard Latin, Which melts like kisses from a female mouth, And sounds as if it should be writ on satin, With syllables which breathe of the sweet South,...
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Hermes; oder kritisches Jahrbuch der Literatur, Volumes 1-2

1819
...sort of farthing candlelight, which glimmers, Where reeking London's smoky cauldron simmers, . ','r\ I love the language, that soft bastard Latin, • "Which melts like kisses from a female mouth, And sounds as if it should be writ on satin, With syllables which breathe of the sweet South,...
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The works of lord Byron, Volume 3

George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) - 1820
...That sort of farthing candle light which glimmers Where reeking London's smoky caldron simmers. XLIV. I love the language, that soft bastard Latin, Which melts like kisses from a female mouth, And sounds as if it should be writ on satin, With syllables which breathe of the sweet South,...
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An Historical and Critical Memoir of the Life and Writings of the Right ...

John Watkins - 1822 - 427 pagina’s
...double rhymes ; of which the following description of the Tuscan dialect may serve as an instance : " I love the language, that soft bastard Latin, Which melts like kisses from a female mouth, And sounds as if it should be writ on satin, With syllables which breathe of the sweet South,...
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Memoirs of the Life and Writings of the Right Honourable Lord Byron: With ...

John Watkins - 1822 - 428 pagina’s
...double rhymes ; of which the following description of the Tuscan dialect may serve as an instance : " I love the language, that soft bastard Latin, Which melts like kisses from a female mouth, And sounds as if it should be writ on satin, With syllables which breathe of the sweet South,...
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The works of lord Byron, comprehending the suppressed poems, Volumes 5-6

George Gordon N. Byron (6th baron.) - 1822
...drunken man's dead eye in maudlin sorrow, But with all heaven t' himself; that day will break as XLIV. I love the language, that soft bastard Latin, Which melts like kisses from a female mouth, - And sounds as if it should be writ on satin, With syllables which breathe of the sweet South...
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