The Dramatic Works of Beaumont and Fletcher: Printed from the Text, and with the Notes of George Colman (Google eBook)

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John Stockdale, 1811
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Page xcii - What things have we seen Done at the Mermaid ! Heard words that have been So nimble, and so full of subtle flame, As if that every one from whence they came Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest And had resolved to live a fool the rest Of his dull life...
Page lxxxix - Man is his own star; and the soul that can Render an honest and a perfect man, Commands all light, all influence, all fate; Nothing to him falls early or too late. Our acts our angels are, or good or ill, Our fatal shadows that walk by us still.
Page 399 - His gardens next your admiration call; On every side you look, behold the wall! No pleasing intricacies intervene, No artful wildness to perplex the scene ; Grove nods at grove, each alley has a brother, And half the platform just reflects the other.
Page 389 - Philomel, with melody Sing in our sweet lullaby ; Lulla, lulla, lullaby, lulla, lulla, lullaby : Never harm, Nor spell nor charm, Come our lovely lady nigh ; So, good night, with lullaby.
Page xxxi - Do my face (If thou had'st ever feeling of a sorrow) Thus, thus, Antiphila : strive to make me look Like Sorrow's monument ; and the trees about me, Let them be dry and leafless ; let the rocks Groan with continual surges ; and behind me, Make all a desolation.
Page xxxv - That place, that does Contain my books, the best companions, is To me a glorious court, where hourly I Converse with the old sages and philosophers ; And sometimes for variety I confer With kings and emperors, and weigh their counsels; Calling their victories, if unjustly got, Unto a strict account; and in my fancy, Deface their ill-placed statues.
Page 9 - Lay a garland on my hearse, Of the dismal yew; Maidens, willow branches bear; Say I died true: My love was false, but I was firm From my hour of birth. Upon my buried body lie Lightly, gentle earth!
Page 378 - I sit by and sing, Or gather rushes, to make many a ring For thy long fingers; tell thee tales of love) How the pale Phoebe, hunting in a grove, First saw the boy Endymion, from whose eyes She took eternal fire that never dies; How she...
Page 54 - I' the morning with you, and at night behind you Past and forgotten ; how your vows are frosts, Fast for a night, and with the next sun gone ; How you are, being taken all together, A mere confusion, and so dead a chaos, That love cannot distinguish. These sad texts, Till my last hour, I am bound to utter of you. So, farewell all my woe, all my delight ! [Exit, Are.
Page 67 - I have wrong'd thee, and as much of joy That I repent it, issue from mine eyes; Let them appease thee. Take thy right; take her; She is thy right too; and forget to urge My vexed soul with that I did before.

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