Publications, Volume 11 (Google eBook)

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Page 32 - I am perswaded ; I will let him goe. Dem. O eloquence, what canst not thou effecte ? Whom doe not sweeter wordes than hony moue ? I thanke my genius. Serg. 2. Exult not soe : I am perswaded, Demeas, I am, Thee to imprisonne. Come, my orator, Not arator, my floridde, not horridde ; Bee sure of this, weele putte thee in sure ties, Vnles thou putte in sureties. Tim. Dismisse him : I will sixteene talents pay Vnto the citizens. Dem. My Jupiter, my Jupiter ! Tim. Carry my name vnto the iudges ; I Will...
Page 73 - Pseudocheus, How many miles thinke you that wee must goe ? Pseud. Two thousande, 44. Stil. What dost thou meane ? A number numbering, or numbered ? Pseud. My eares attende not to these idle trifles : Thou art a trifling philosopher ; peace : Perseus, hee had a winged horse. Dem. The allegory of this fable I perspicuously laid open in an oration newly penn'd. If you please, I will relate it.
Page 20 - Eutr. This fidler I envye. Would Laches had forbidden me the howse ! [Aside.] Laches, dost see me, Laches ? I am a knaue too, Laches. Lach. Spend and consume; gyue gould to this, to all; Your ritches are iminortall.
Page 60 - TIMON solus. Tim. Fire, water, sworde confounde yee ! let the crowes Feede on your peckt out entrailes, and your bones Wante a sepulchre ! worthy, O, worthy yee, That thus haue falsifi'd your faith to mee, To dwell in Phlegeton! Rushe on me heau'n, Soe that on them it rushe! Mount Caucasus Fall on my shoulders, soe on them it fall! Paine I respecte not. O holy Justice, If thou inheritte heau'n, descende at once, Eu'n all at once vnto a wretches hands! Make mee an arbiter of ghosts in hell, That,...
Page 3 - Who beares a princelie mynd needes princelie wealth, Or ells hee'le wither like a rose in springe, Nought wilbe left but thornes of povertie. Master, thou art noe kinge, noe prince ; doe well Vnto thie selfe, and all is well. Tim. Thou speakest like thie selfe, and in thy kinde : Lett those that are borne slaues beare abiect minds. I Timon am, not Laches.
Page 8 - And offer'd vp whole hecatombes of teares ; I putt on black apparell ; at midnight Plaid at her window ; on my sweete string'd lute I sung her loue songs ; nothing could her moue; But when shee sawe the shyning gould, " My loue, Whye stand'st thou heere ? what's my gate a bandogg? My hony, gyue me this; nay, yf thou lou'st me, b Four lines and a half omitted here.
Page 14 - tis, last day of March, My calender tells me the very hower. Peed. This is noe Wordling, hee's some Cretian.s [Aside. Gelas. On ffoote, or horse, wents't thou this greate voyage ? Pseud. Vp to the ffeildes Gurgustidonian I rode on horse back ; the Antipodes Were distant thence about an hundred myles ; There I being scene, the Pigmies fearefully Fledd all awaye.
Page 60 - This face, these hands thou heretofore didst knowe : Am I soe soone forgotte and wholy chang'd ? And is there nothing now of Timon lefte ? Dem. Thou brazen face, I ne're sawe thee before. Eutr. This fellowe would insinuate, I thinke. Tim. Where hide yee your heads, yee heau'nly powers ? They doe despise their needy friend, yet liue And breathe a guilty soule: O supreme Joue, Why doth thy right hande cease to punish sinne ? Strike one of these with thunder from aboue, And with thy lightening reuenge...
Page 50 - Gelas. To wake a sleeping lyon, what it is, I'le make thee knowe: I'le meditate reuenge Worthy myselfe; to morrow, arm'd with shielde, I will prouoke thee to encounter mee. ' Pseud. O valiant champion ! this Theseus Did when hee conquered Hipolita. Eutr. Gelasimus, but heare, Gelasimus: \ Suppose that Callimela in a rage Come with a drawne sworde threatening thy deathe ? Gelas. Thou saiest very well: these women are A pestiferous kinde of animals ; 'Twere safer fighting with an hoste of men ; Therefore...
Page 70 - Come out of thy hole ; thou shalt not lurke here. [Hee pulls him out. Grun. O cruell Obba, hast thou noe pitty ? O, suffer but my nose to smell the meate ! I truly am more hungry than hunger. Ob. Wert thou hunger itselfe in the abstracte, Thou shouldst not moue mee to compassion. Grun. Must I, then, Grunnio, bee hungerstaru'd ? What shall I doe ? what will become of mee? Nothing's at home but leane long legg'd spiders. Ob. Goe, fatte thyselfe with them. Grun. Farewell, Obba : Inhumane Obba, if I...

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