The British Theatre; Or, A Collection of Plays: Which are Acted at the Theatres Royal, Drury Lane, Covent Garden, and Haymarket ... (Google eBook)

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Mrs. Inchbald
Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, 1808 - English drama
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Page 31 - I have of lateó but wherefore I know notó lost all my mirth, forgone all custom of exercises; and indeed it goes so heavily with my disposition that this goodly frame, the earth, seems to me a sterile promontory; this most excellent canopy, the air, look you, this brave o'erhanging firmament, this majestical roof fretted with golden fire, why, it appears no other thing to me than a foul and pestilent congregation of vapours.
Page 41 - O, what a noble mind is here o'erthrown ! The courtier's, soldier's, scholar's, eye, tongue, sword: The expectancy and rose of the fair state. The glass of fashion, and the mould* of form, The observed of all observers...
Page 79 - No, faith, not a jot ; but to follow him thither with modesty enough, and likelihood to lead it: As thus; Alexander died, Alexander was buried, Alexander returneth to dust ; the dust is earth ; of earth we make loam : And why of that loam, whereto he was converted, might they not stop a beer-barrel...
Page 19 - But that I am forbid To tell the secrets of my prison-house, I could a tale unfold, whose lightest word Would harrow up thy soul ; freeze thy young blood ; Make thy two eyes, like stars, start from their spheres ; Thy knotted and combined locks to part, And each particular hair to stand on end Like quills upon the fretful porcupine...
Page 20 - Haste me to know it; that I, with wings as swift As meditation, or the thoughts of love, May sweep to my revenge.
Page 22 - Do not swear at all ; Or, if thou wilt, swear by thy gracious self, Which is the god of my idolatry, And I'll believe thee.
Page 78 - Alas ! poor Yorick. I knew him, Horatio ; a fellow of infinite jest, of most excellent fancy ; he hath borne me on his back a thousand times ; and now, how abhorred in my imagination it is ! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips that I have kissed I know not how oft.
Page 25 - Sweet, so would I : Yet I should kill thee with much cherishing. Good night, good night ! parting is such sweet sorrow. That I shall say good night till it be morrow.
Page 36 - Grief fills the room up of my absent child, Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me, Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words, Remembers me of all his gracious parts, Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form; Then, have I reason to be fond of grief ? Fare you well: had you such a loss as I, I could give better comfort than you do.
Page 54 - Come, come, and sit you down ; you shall not budge ; You go not till I set you up a glass Where you may see the inmost part of you.

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