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Begins next line bloud Bosola Brach Brachiano brother Camillo Card Cardinal cardinall Cariola Castruchio court dead death Delio divell doth Duch Duchess of Malfy duke Duke of Florence Dyce Ends preceding line Exeunt Exit Ferd Ferdinand Flam Flamineo for't Fran Francisco Gasparo Giovanni give Grisolan hath heare heart heaven honour husband I'le i'th in't Isab Isabella John Webster Julia Lady line in Qq Lodovico looke lord Malateste Marcello Mont Monticelso neere never night noble o'th omit on't Padua Pescara pitty play poison'd poyson pray princes Query Rome Scena scene selfe Servant shee shew sister souldier speech tell thee There's thing thinke thou art to't tragedy twas unto vertue Vittoria Vittoria Accoramboni What's White Devil woman Zanche
Page 326 - I'll tell thee a miracle ; I am not mad yet, to my cause of sorrow. Th' heaven o'er my head seems made of molten brass, The earth of flaming sulphur, yet I am not mad : I am acquainted with sad misery, As the tann'd galley-slave is with his oar ; Necessity makes me suffer constantly, And custom makes it easy.
Page 336 - Not a whit: What would it pleasure me to have my throat cut With diamonds ? or to be smothered With cassia? or to be shot to death with pearls ? I know death hath ten thousand several doors For men to take their exits ; and 'tis found They go on such strange geometrical hinges, You may open them both ways: any way, for heaven sake, So I were out of your whispering.
Page 371 - I do love these ancient ruins. We never tread upon them but we set Our foot upon some reverend history : And, questionless, here in this open court, Which now lies naked to the injuries Of stormy weather, some men + lie...
Page 312 - I know not Which is best, to see you dead, or part with you. — Farewell, boy: Thou art happy that thou hast not understanding To know thy misery; for all our wit And reading brings us to a truer sense Of sorrow. — In the eternal church, sir, I do hope we shall not part thus.
Page 340 - And that was the main cause ; her marriage, That drew a stream of gall quite through my heart. For thee, as we observe in tragedies That a good actor many times is...
Page 331 - Bos. Yes, and the more dangerously, since thy sickness is insensible. Duch. Thou art not mad sure : dost know me ? Bos. Yes. Duch. Who am I ? Bos. Thou art a box of wormseed ; at best but a salvatory of green mummy.
Page 249 - Though we are eaten up of lice and worms, And though continually we bear about us A rotten and dead body, we delight To hide it in rich tissue...
Page 248 - Jews' spittle, and their young children's ordure; and all these for the face. I would sooner eat a dead pigeon taken from the soles of the feet of one sick of the plague, than kiss one of you fasting.