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Ægypt Antony Bawd Boult Brother Capt Captain Casar Char Cleo Cleopatra Clot Cobham Crom Cromwell Cymbeline Daughter dead Death Dionysia dost doth e'er Enobarbus Enter Eros Exeunt Exit Eyes farewel Fath Father fear Fellow Flow Flowerdale Fool Fortune Friends Gent Gentleman give Gods Guiderius Hand hath hear Heart Heav'n Hodge Honour Humber i'faith i'th is't King Knave Knight Lady Lane leave Locrine look Lord Lord Cobham Luce Lysimachus Madam marry Master Mistress Moll Mony morrow ne'er never noble o'th on't Pericles Pompey poor pray prethee Priest Prince Queen Scythians 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 troth unto Villain what's Wife
Page 1655 - O'erflows the measure : those his goodly eyes, That o'er the files and musters of the war Have glow'd like plated Mars, now bend, now turn, The office and devotion of their view Upon a tawny front : his captain's heart, Which in the scuffles of great fights hath burst The buckles on his breast, reneges all temper; And is become the bellows, and the fan, To cool a gipsy's lust.
Page 1667 - Like to a vagabond flag upon the stream, Goes to and back, lackeying the varying tide, To rot itself with motion.
Page 1678 - O'er-picturing that Venus, where we see The fancy outwork nature: on each side her Stood pretty dimpled boys, like smiling Cupids, With divers-colour'd fans, whose wind did seem To glow the delicate cheeks which they did cool. And what they undid, did. AGR. O, rare for Antony! ENO. Her gentlewomen, like the Nereides, So many mermaids, tended her i...
Page 1681 - I'll none now: Give me mine angle; we'll to the river: there, My music playing far off, I will betray Tawny-finn'd fishes; my bended hook shall pierce Their slimy jaws, and as I draw them up, I'll think them every one an Antony, And say 'Ah, ha! you're caught.
Page 1741 - He words me, girls, he words me, that I should not Be noble to myself; but hark thee, Charmian. [Whispers CHARMIAN. Iras. Finish, good lady ; the bright day is done, And we are for the dark.
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.
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 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 1791 - tis slander; Whose edge is sharper than the sword; whose tongue Outvenoms all the worms of Nile ; whose breath Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie All corners of the world : kings, queens, and states. Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave This viperous slander enters.