The Works of Thomas Middleton, Now First Collected: Honest whore, by Dekker and Middleton. The witch. The widow, by B. Johnson, J. Fletcher, and T. Middleton. A fair quarrel, by Middleton and W. Rowley. More dissemblers besides women (Google eBook)
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Page 121 - tis the soul of peace : Of all the virtues, 'tis nearest kin to heaven ; It makes men look like gods. The best of men That e'er wore earth about him, was a sufferer; A soft, meek, patient, humble, tranquil spirit : The first true gentleman, that ever breathed.
Page 328 - Black spirits and white, red spirits and gray, Mingle, mingle, mingle, you that mingle may! Titty, Tiffin, Keep it stiff in; Firedrake, Puckey, Make it lucky; Liard, Robin, You must bob in. Round, around, around, about, about! All ill come running in, all good keep out!
Page 326 - Duch. I did not doubt you, mother. Hec. No! What did you? My power's so firm, it is not to be question'd. Duch. Forgive what's past : and now I know th' offensiveness That vexes art, I'll shun th
Page 329 - His witches are distinguished from the witches of Middleton by essential differences. These are creatures to whom man or woman, plotting some dire mischief, might resort for occasional consultation.
Page 305 - mongst troops of spirits : No ring of bells to our ears sounds, No howls of wolves, no yelps of hounds ; No, not the noise of water's breach, Or cannon's throat our height can reach. [Above.\ No ring of bells, &c. Fire. Well, mother, I thank your kindness ; you must be Gambolling i' th' air, and leave me to walk here like a fool and a mortal.
Page 266 - His rotten diseas'd years) ! Or dost thou envy The fat prosperity of any neighbour ? I'll call forth Hoppo, and her incantation Can straight destroy the young of all his cattle : Blast vine-yards, orchards, meadows ; or in one night Transport his dung, hay, corn, by reeks, whole stacks, Into thine own ground.
Page 302 - Stad. Briefly in the copse, As we came through now. .Hec. "Tis high time for us then. Stad. There was a bat hung at my lips three times As we came through the woods, and drank her fill : Old Puckle saw her.
Page 145 - I'll to her. Yet she shall not know me ; she shall drink of my wealth, as beggars do of running water, freely, yet never know from what fountain's head it flows. Shall a silly bird pick her own breast to nourish her young ones, and can a father see his child starve ? That were hard ; the pelican does it, and shall not I ? Yes, I will victual the camp for her.
Page 119 - I thank your grace. — Matheo, thou art mine : I am not mad, but put on this disguise, Only for you. my lord ; for you can tell Much wonder of me, but you are gone : farewell. Matheo, thou didst first turn my soul black, Now make it white again : I do protest, I'm pure as fire now, chaste as Cynthia's breast. Hip. I durst be sworn, Matheo, she's indeed.
Page 80 - But from eternal shipwreck keep a soul, If not, and that again, sin's path I tread, The grief be mine, the guilt fall on thy head ! Hip. Stay, and take physic for it ; read this book, Ask counsel of this head, what's to be done ; He'll strike it dead, that 'tis damnation If you turn Turk again.