The Works of Thomas Middleton, Now First Collected: Some account of Middleton and his works. The old law, by P. Massinger, T. Middleton and W. Rowley. Mayor of Queenborough. Blurt, master-constable. The phnix. Michaelmas term (Google eBook)

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E. Lumley, 1840
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Page 197 - O, it is monstrous! monstrous! Methought, the billows spoke, and told me of it; The winds did sing it to me; and the thunder, That deep and dreadful organ-pipe, pronounc'd The name of Prosper; it did bass my trespass. Therefore my son i" the ooze is bedded ; and I'll seek him deeper than e'er plummet sounded, And with him there lie mudded.
Page xlvii - Lastly, I would inform you, that this book, in all numbers, is not the same with that which was acted on the public stage ; wherein a second pen had good share...
Page 81 - gainst a thief That comes to steal our goods, things all without us, That prove vexation often more than comfort, How mighty ought our providence to be To prevent those, if any such there were, That...
Page 139 - Think, hath the world a folly like this madness ? Keep still that holy and immaculate fire, You chaste lamp of eternity ! 'tis a treasure Too precious for death's moment to partake, This twinkling of short life. Disdain as much To let mortality know you, as stars To kiss the pavements ; you've a substance as Excellent as theirs, holding your pureness : They look upon corruption, as you do, But are stars still ; be you a virgin too.
Page 270 - Being deep in love, at lovers' broken sleeps : But say a golden slumber chance to tie With silken strings the cover of love's eye, Then dreams, magician-like, mocking present Pleasures, whose fading leaves more discontent.
Page 83 - Leon. How sweetly sounds the voice of a good woman ! It is so seldom heard, that, when it speaks, It ravishes all senses.
Page xlix - Excellent Bewmont, in the foremost ranke Of the rar'st wits, was never more than Franck. Mellifluous Shakespeare, whose enchanting quill Commanded mirth or passion, was but Will; And famous Johnson, though his learned pen Be dipt in Castaly, is still but Ben.
Page 85 - Why, how should I believe this ? Look, he's merry, As if he had no such charge. One with that care Could never be so still ; he holds his temper, And 'tis the same still ; with no difference, He brought his father's corpse to the grave with. He laugh'd thus then, you know.
Page 444 - O that sweet, neat, comely, proper, delicate, parcel of land ! like a fine gentlewoman i' th' waist, not so great as pretty, pretty ; the trees in summer ivhistling, the silver waters by the banks harmoniously gliding. I should have been a scholar; an excellent place for a student ; fit for my son that lately commenced at Cambridge, whom now I have placed at inns of court. Thus we that seldom get lands honestly, must leave our heirs to inherit our knavery : but, whist ; one turn about my shop, and...
Page 8 - Whither, sir, I pray ? To the bleak air of storms, among those trees Which we had shelter from. Sim. Yes, from our growth, Our sap and livelihood, and from our fruit. What! 'tis not jubilee with thee yet, I think; Thou look'st so sad on't.

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