The ancient British drama ... (Google eBook)

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Printed for W. Miller, by J. Ballantyne and Co., Edinburgh, 1810 - English drama - 614 pages
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Page 575 - I'll example you with thievery: The sun's a thief, and with his great attraction Robs the vast sea: the moon's an arrant thief, And her pale fire she snatches from the sun...
Page 115 - For doating on her beauty, though her death Shall be revenged after no common action. Does the silkworm expend her yellow labours For thee? For thee does she undo herself? Are lordships sold to maintain ladyships For the poor benefit of a bewildering minute? Why does yon...
Page 445 - More distress'd in this Than all my troubles ! Hale me back, Double my irons, and my sparing meals Put into halves, and lodge me in a dungeon More deep, more dark, more cold, more comfortless ! By Acton freed! Not all thy manacles Could fetter so my heels, as this one word Hath thrall'd my heart; and it must now lie bound In more strict prison than thy stony gaol.
Page 537 - ... his nature, in his time, of better ability in performance of what he undertook, more applauded by the audience, of greater grace at the court, or of more general love in the city : and so with this brief character of his memory I commit him to his rest.
Page 116 - Thou may'st lie chaste now! It were fine, methinks To have thee seen at revels, forgetful feasts And unclean brothels; sure 'twould fright the sinner And make him a good coward, put a reveller Out of his antic amble, And cloy an epicure with empty dishes. Here might a scornful and ambitious woman Look through and through herself; see, ladies with false forms You deceive men, but cannor deceive worms.
Page 57 - Fortune, the great commandress of the world> Hath divers ways to advance her followers : To some she gives honour without deserving, To other some, deserving without honour...
Page 129 - This murder might have slept in tongueless brass But for ourselves, and the world died an ass. Now I remember too, here was Piato Brought forth a knavish sentence once ; No doubt (said he), but time Will make the murderer bring forth himself. 'Tis well he died ; he was a witch.
Page 429 - Bastard without a father to acknowledge it ; true it is that my plays are not exposed to the world in volumes, to bear the title of works (as others *) : one reason is, that many of them by shifting and change of companies, have been negligently lost. Others of them are still retained in the hands of some actors, who think it against their peculiar profit to have them come in print, and a third that it never was any great ambition in me to be in this kind voluminously read.
Page 36 - ... cold, dull mass, which glittered no longer than it was shooting ; a dwarfish thought, dressed up in gigantic words, repetition in abundance, looseness of expression, and gross hyperboles ; the sense of one line expanded prodigiously into ten ; and, to sum up all, uncorrect English, and a hideous mingle of false poetry and true nonsense ; or, at best, a scantling of wit, which lay gasping for life, and groaning beneath a heap of rubbish.
Page 197 - Roses and bays, pack hence ! this crown and robe, My brows and body circles and invests. How gallantly it fits me! sure the slave Measured my head that wrought this coronet They lie, that say complexions cannot change ; My blood's ennobled, and I am transform'd Unto the sacred temper of a king.

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