King Richard III. King Henry VIII (Google eBook)

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L.A. Lewis, 125, Fleet Street., 1841
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Page 264 - Let's dry our eyes ; and thus far hear me, Cromwell, And when I am forgotten, as I shall be, And sleep in dull cold marble, where no mention Of me more must be heard of, say I taught thee...
Page 8 - Cheated of feature by dissembling nature, Deform'd, unfinish'd, sent before my time Into this breathing world, scarce half made up, And that so lamely and unfashionable That dogs bark at me, as I halt by them...
Page 305 - She shall be lov'd and fear'd : her own shall bless her ; Her foes shake like a field of beaten corn, And hang their heads with sorrow. Good grows with her ! In her days every man shall eat in safety, Under his own vine, what he plants, and sing The merry songs of peace to all his neighbours...
Page 42 - I pass'd, methought, the melancholy flood, With that grim ferryman which poets write of, Unto the kingdom of perpetual night. The first that there did greet my stranger soul, Was my great father-in-law, renowned Warwick ; Who cried aloud, " What scourge for perjury Can this dark monarchy afford false Clarence...
Page 236 - Every thing that heard him play, Even the billows of the sea, Hung their heads, and then lay by. In sweet music is such art, Killing care and grief of heart Fall asleep, or hearing, die.
Page 263 - I have told him What, and how true thou art: he will advance thee; Some little memory of me will stir him, (I know his noble nature,) not to let Thy hopeful service perish too : Good Cromwell, Neglect him not ; make use now, and provide For thine own future safety.
Page 164 - Slave, I have set my life upon a cast, And I will stand the hazard of the die : I think, there be six Richmonds in the field; Five have I slain to-day, instead of him : A horse! a horse! my kingdom for a horse!
Page 7 - Our bruised arms hung up for monuments ; Our stern alarums changed to merry meetings, Our dreadful marches to delightful measures. Grim-visaged war hath smooth'd his wrinkled front; And now, instead of mounting barbed steeds To fright the souls of fearful adversaries, He capers nimbly in a lady's chamber To the lascivious pleasing of a lute.
Page 264 - And pry'thee lead me in There take an inventory of all I have, To the last penny, 'tis the king's. My robe, And my integrity to Heaven, is all I dare now call my own.
Page 272 - O father abbot, An old man, broken with the storms of state, Is come to lay his weary bones among ye; Give him a little earth for charity...

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