Shakspeare's Measure for measure: a comedy (Google eBook)

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Printed for J. Ridgway, and sold in the Theatre, 1803 - Promptbooks - 68 pages
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Page 30 - Be absolute for death ; either death, or life, Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life : If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing That none but fools would keep : a breath thou art, Servile to all the skyey influences, That dost this habitation, where thou keep'st, Hourly afflict.
Page 30 - Thou hast nor youth, nor age; But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, Dreaming on both : for all thy blessed youth Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms Of palsied eld; and when thou art old, and rich, Thou hast neither heat, affection, limb, nor beauty, To make thy riches pleasant. What's yet in this, That bears the name of life? Yet in this life Lie hid more thousand deaths : yet death we fear, That makes these odds all even.
Page 32 - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods, or to reside In thrilling regions of thick-ribbed ice ; To be imprison'd in the viewless winds, And blown with restless violence round about The pendent world...
Page 19 - That skins the vice o' the top. Go to your bosom ; Knock there ; and ask your heart what it doth know That's like my brother's fault ; if it confess A natural guiltiness such as is his, Let it not sound a thought upon your tongue Against my brother's life.
Page 15 - We must not make a scarecrow of the law, Setting it up to fear the birds of prey, And let it keep one shape till custom make it Their perch, and not their terror.
Page 11 - From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty : As surfeit is the father of much fast, So every scope by the immoderate use Turns to restraint. Our natures do pursue, Like rats that ravin down their proper bane, A thirsty evil ; and when we drink we die.
Page 65 - Isabel, Sweet Isabel, do yet but kneel by me : Hold up your hands, say nothing, I'll speak all. They say, best men are moulded out of faults, And, for the most, become much more the better For being a little bad : so may my husband.
Page 41 - He who the sword of heaven will bear, Should be as holy as severe ; Pattern in himself to know, Grace to stand, and virtue go ; More nor less to others paying, Than by self-offences weighing.
Page 19 - Could great men thunder As Jove himself does, Jove would ne'er be quiet, For every pelting, petty officer Would use his heaven for thunder: nothing but thunder.
Page 33 - Ne'er issued from his blood. Take my defiance ; Die ; perish ! might but my bending down Reprieve thee from thy fate, it should proceed...

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