Usa "childbed" in una frase

1. in childbed eat their sacrifices: by these things you may know that they are no gods: fear them not

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2. The man that was come in to the house then spoke to the nursingwoman and he asked her how it fared with the woman that lay there in childbed

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3. The wife probably died in childbed

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4. Of Clap, Consumption, the Evils of Drink, Death in Childbed (and the other Ravages of the poor Harlot’s Life), he hath nought to say

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5. Yet now I ask: what could be more curious and strange than the Cycle of Child-bearing, the Phases of Pregnancy? There is, for instance, the First Phase, when one wishes to quite undo the Babe, because one feels its Presence as an Invasion at one’s very Centre; then the Second, when one feels the first delicate Stirrings of Life within (as if the Tail of a tiny Mermaid had brusht against one’s Heart and all one’s Inner Being were a gentle Sea with small Waves lapping); then the Third, when the Child grows bigger and ’tis very like a Puppy wiggling, tickling, e’en licking within; then the Fourth, when it grows the Size of a great Melon and causes one to make Water four Times an Hour, and indeed wakes up just when one lyes down to sleep, and falls to sleep just when one walks or rides or goes abroad; then the Fifth Phase, when the Child becomes a true Burden, heavier under the Heart than Lead and yet, for all its cumbrous Weight, more lov’d as well (for now it seems real rather than fanciful to the Mother and so she can better bear the Discomfort of its Heaviness); and then the Sixth Phase, when the Mother begins to grow immobile, fearful of Death in Childbed, (with Nights full of Dreams of Monsters, and Days full of Dreams of Childbirth Horrors); then the Seventh, when the Pregnancy grows long as the longest Day of Summer and the Mother forgets she hath e’er been slender of Form or will e’er be again, and ev’ry Step is an Effort not to make Water by Chance in the Street, and ev’ry Motion causes Pain and ev’ry Night is sleepless (because turn as she will this way and that, the Child cannot be accommodated whilst it kicks her Lungs and butts its bony Head against her Bowels); and then the Eighth Phase, the Phase of Immense Impatience and Weariness, when she believes the Child will ne’er be born (and she is glad, for then she may not dye but only endure Pregnancy for all Eternity!); and then the Ninth Phase, when the Moon is full as a Bladder of pale Wine, and the Sea glows with its rotund Reflection and the Mother fears Death more than e’er before; and then, at last, the Tenth Phase, when the Waters break and the Pains begin, slowly at first, and then tumultuous; and she knows she has no Choyce now, but must give birth or burst; for she cannot turn back, cannot take another Road thro’ the Forest, another Canal to the Sea, and she, like her Babe, is pusht headlong into the Dance of Life and Death, turning, whirling, moaning, writhing; and whether she shall live or dye she does not know, but the Pain grows so terrible at the Last that, i’faith, she does not e’en care!

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6. I would bid ye, Sirrah, to stay within yer own Province o’ Gamin’ Tables an’ Race Meetin’s, an’ not meddle with the Mysteries o’ Midwifery an’ Childbed that are better done by Women!

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7. O the List of Queens who had dy’d in Childbed was long indeed—as was the List of Royal Mistresses, and, i’faith, Royal Infants

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8. O Angels and Demons attend Women in Childbed! E’en without Isobel to prompt my Rage, the Severity of the Pain I had known should have stirr’d my Anger ’gainst the Whole Race of Mankind who but employ Women as Brood Mares and steal not only Life from ’em, but e’en the Joys of Bearing

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