The British Theatre; Or, A Collection of Plays: Which are Acted at the Theatres Royal, Drury Lane, Covent Garden, and Haymarket ...

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Mrs. Inchbald
Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, 1808 - English drama

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Page 16 - Oh 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 31 - Let us drink and sport to-day, Ours is not to-morrow. Love with youth flies swift away, Age is nought but sorrow. Dance and sing, Time's on the wing, Life never knows the return of spring.
Page 13 - Received thee to the arms of Belvidera, The scene of all thy joys, was violated By the coarse hands of filthy dungeon villains, And thrown amongst the common lumber.
Page 51 - POLLY. Sure, Madam, you cannot think me so happy as to be the object of your jealousy. A man is always afraid of a woman who loves him too well— so that I must expect to be neglected and avoided. LUCY. Then our cases, my dear Polly, are exactly alike. Both of us, indeed, have been too fond.
Page 30 - Dear Mrs. Coaxer, you are welcome. You look charmingly today. I hope you don't want the repairs of quality, and lay on paint. — Dolly Trull! kiss me, you slut; are you as amorous as ever, hussy?
Page 59 - If cold white mortals censure this great deed, Warn them, they judge not of superior beings, Souls made of fire, and children of the sun, With whom Revenge is virtue.
Page 49 - Burthensome to itself, a few years longer, To lose it, may be, at last in a lewd quarrel For some new friend, treacherous and false as thou art ! No, this vile world and I have long been jangling, And cannot part on better terms than now, When only men like thee are fit to live in't.
Page 34 - Man may escape from rope and gun; Nay, some have out-liv'd the doctor's pill; Who takes a woman must be undone, That basilisk is sure to kill. The fly that sips treacle is lost in the sweets, So he that tastes woman, woman, woman, He that tastes woman, ruin meets.
Page 38 - Should there, my friends, be found amongst us one False to this glorious enterprise, what fate, What vengeance were enough for such a villain ? Eliot. Death here without repentance, hell hereafter.
Page 20 - I know not thirty heads in Venice Should not be blasted; Senators should rot Like dogs on dunghills ; but their wives and daughters Die of their own diseases.

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