Fatigued

Usage examples of weary.

Which explained why naval warfare had been one long, weary attritional contest for so long.

I have sat breakfastless and shaken until the weary procession of young America toiled into camp, hungry and bearless, but, thank Heaven, whole of skin save where mosquitoes and black flies had taken their toll of them.

Meanwhile Theresa Joyce, who was likewise bedrenched and weary, found a seat in the opposite corner, where her nearest neighbours were Ody Rafferty, and her niece-in-law, Mrs.

For weal or woe she will him not forsake: She is not weary him to love and serve, Though that he lie bedrid until he sterve.

Huddled deep within his fur cloak, he bespoke his weary mount and the two pack-fronials that trailed behind.

Rather than the hot meal and sleep the weary soldiers had been looking forward to, they settled for filthy water, what few remains of stale bread had survived the plundering, and a blanketless rest on the hard ground.

But Brail thought she looked weary, and there were more lines on her face than he remembered.

Inn, Bridgewater, and North Petherton, until in the cool of the evening I pulled up my weary horse at the Cross Hands, and saw the towers of Taunton in the valley beneath me.

Panting and weary with hours of climbing, Burl and his father made a quick lunch in a sheltered jumble of rock near the top.

But nothing could check their fury: with loud cries and flashing weapons they fell upon the enemy, who burthened by their prey, and wearied by their very outrages, could ill resist men fighting to avenge their desolated hearths.

Life was never either weary or burthensome in our house--not even to-night, though our friend found us less lively than usual--though John maintained more than his usual silence, and Mrs.

The flesh was weary, the spirit faint, and I was getting out of humor with the bustling busy throng through which I had to struggle, when in a fit of desperation I tore my way through the crowd, plunged into a by-lane, and, after passing through several obscure nooks and angles, emerged into a quaint and quiet court with a grassplot in the centre overhung by elms, and kept perpetually fresh and green by a fountain with its sparkling jet of water.

From the way Butyr said it, he half expected to see a troop of smartly dressed fighters, instead of such a weary crowd of refugees.

Their skirts tied above their knees, waist-deep in the cool, murky waters, they washed away miles of trail dust from both their clothes and their weary bodies while exchanging hopes and fears of what lay ahead.

The weary tendons propelling him caught and skipped like frayed cables, one excruciating step after another.