The dramatic works of Ben Jonson, and Beaumont and Fletcher: printed from the text, Volume 1 (Google eBook)

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printed for John Stockdale, 1811
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Page 337 - No doubt; he's that already. Mam. Nay, I mean, Restore his years, renew him, like an eagle, To the fifth age; make him get sons and daughters, Young giants; as our philosophers have done, The ancient patriarchs, afore the flood, But taking, once a week, on a knife's point, The quantity of a grain of mustard of it; Become stout Marses, and beget young Cupids.
Page 137 - QUEEN and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess excellently bright. Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear when day did close: Bless us then with wished sight, Goddess excellently bright. Lay thy bow of pearl apart And thy crystal-shining quiver; Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever: Thou that mak'st...
Page 491 - Sheds itself through the face, As alone there triumphs to the life All the gain, all the good, of the elements
Page 71 - That the argument of his comedy might have been of some other nature, as of a duke to be in love with a countess, and that countess to be in love with the duke's son, and the son to love the lady's waiting-maid : some such cross wooing, with a clown to their servingman, better than to be thus near, and familiarly allied to the time.
Page vi - He is a great lover and praiser of himself, a contemner and scorner of others, given rather to lose a friend than a jest, jealous of every word and action of those about him, (especially after drink, which is one of the elements in which he liveth...
Page 102 - Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears; Yet slower, yet, O faintly gentle springs: List to the heavy part the music bears, Woe weeps out her division, when she sings. Droop herbs and flowers; Fall grief in showers, Our beauties are not ours; O, I could still, Like, melting snow upon some craggy hill, Drop, drop, drop, drop, Since nature's pride is, now, a withered daffodil.
Page 236 - O thou son of Sol, But brighter than thy father, let me kiss, With adoration, thee, and every relic Of sacred treasure in this blessed room...
Page 354 - MAM. Nay, in true being, The envy of princes and the fear of states. DOL. Say you so, Sir Epicure? MAM. Yes, and thou shalt prove it, Daughter of honour.
Page 491 - Have you marked but the fall of the snow, Before the soil hath smutched it ? Have you felt the wool of the beaver, Or swan's down ever ? Or have smelt o' the bud o' the brier ? Or the nard in the fire ? Or have tasted the bag of the bee ? O so white ! O so soft ! O so sweet is she ! n.
Page 60 - I do intend, this year of jubilee coming on, to travel: and because I will not altogether go upon expense, I am determined to put forth some five thousand pound, to be paid me five for one, upon the return of myself, my wife, and my dog from the Turk's court in Constantinople. If all or either of us miscarry in the journey, 'tis gone: if we be successful, why, there will be five and twenty thousand pound to entertain time withal.

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