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Antony Bawd Brother Capt Captain Char Cleo Cleopatra Clot Cobham Crom Cromwell Cymbeline Daughter dead Death Devil dost doth e'er Enter Eros Exeunt Exit Eyes Fath Father Fellow Flow Flowerdale Fool Fortune Friends Gent Gentleman give Gods Guiderius Hand hath hear Heart Heav'n Hodge honest Honour Humber i'faith is't King Knave Knight Lady Lane leave Lise Locrine look Lord Lord Cobham Luce Madam marry Master Mistress Moll Mony morrow ne'er never noble o'th on't Pericles Pompey poor pray Priest Prince Prince of Tyre prithee Queen Scythians sear shew Sir John Sir John Oldcastle Sir Lancelot Sir Richard Lee Sirrah sirst Soldiers speak Strum sweet Sword tell thank thee there's thing thou art thou hast Thra Tipstaffe troth unto Villain Weath what's Wife
Page 1732 - O, wither'd is the garland of the war, The soldier's pole is fall'n : young boys and girls Are level now with men ; the odds is gone, And there is nothing left remarkable Beneath the visiting moon.
Page 1667 - Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream, Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide, To rot itself with motion.
Page 1710 - Mine honesty and I begin to square. The loyalty well held to fools does make Our faith mere folly : yet he that can endure To follow with allegiance a fall'n lord Does conquer him that did his master conquer, And earns a place i
Page 1743 - Give me my robe, put on my crown ; I have Immortal longings in me : Now no more The juice of Egypt's grape shall moist this lip: — Yare, yare, good Iras; quick.
Page 1735 - My desolation does begin to make A better life : Tis paltry to be Caesar; Not being fortune, he's but fortune's knave, A minister of her will ; And it is great To do that thing that ends all other deeds ; Which shackles accidents, and bolts up change; Which sleeps, and never palates more the dung, The beggar's nurse and Caesar's.
Page 1811 - Whilst summer lasts, and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave: Thou shalt not lack The flower, that's like thy face, pale primrose; nor The azur'd hare-bell, like thy veins; no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweeten'd not thy breath...
Page 1710 - I see, men's judgments are A parcel of their fortunes ; and things outward Do draw the inward quality after them, To suffer all alike.
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