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Acas arms art thou Beau Beaugard Belvidera bless brother Caius Mar Caius Marius Castalio Cham Chamont Cinna Cour Courtine curs'd curse dagger Dare Daredevil dear dost e'er Enter Exeunt Exit eyes false fate Father fear fool fortune give Gods Gratian happy hate hear heart Heaven honest honour hope Jaffeir kiss lady Lavinia Lictors little Nicky look lord lov'd madam Maid Mar.jun Metel Metellus Methinks Monimia Nacky ne'er never night Nurse on't peace Pierre pity Polydore poor Porcia pr'ythee Renault rogue Rome senate shew slave sorrows soul speak Sulpitius sure swear sword Sylla tears tell thee Theo Theodoret there's thing thou art thou hast thou wilt thou'rt thought Twas twill us'd villain virtue what's wife wilt thou woman wretch wrong'd
Page 320 - Ohy woman! lovely woman! nature made thee .To temper man : we had been brutes without you. Angels are painted fair, to look like you : There's in you all that we believe of Heaven, Amazing brightness, purity, and truth, Eternal joy, and everlasting love.
Page 295 - Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty : Thou art not conquer'd ; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
Page 240 - My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.
Page 240 - I'll believe thee. Rom. If my heart's dear love Jul. Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night : It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden ; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be, Ere one can say — It lightens.
Page 238 - Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name; And for that name, which is no part of thee, Take all myself.
Page 264 - It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out...
Page 318 - The bitterness her tender spirit tastes of, I own myself a coward: bear my weakness, If throwing thus my arms about thy neck, I play the boy, and blubber in thy bosom. Oh! I shall drown thee with my sorrows! Pierr. Burn ! First burn, and level Venice to thy ruin. What! starve like beggars' brats in frosty weather, Under a hedge, and whine ourselves to death!
Page 279 - Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life: I'll call them back again to comfort me.
Page 323 - That's my wish too: For then, my Pierre, I might have cause with pleasure To play the hypocrite. Oh! how I could weep Over the dying dotard, and kiss him too, In hopes to smother him quite; then, when the time Was come to pay my sorrows at his funeral, For he has already made me heir to treasures, Would make me out-act a real...