The White Devil and the Duchess of Malfy

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D.C. Heath & Company, 1904 - 422 pages

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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 371 - They thought it should have canopied their bones Till doomsday ; but all things have their end : Churches and cities, which have diseases like to men, Must have like death that we have.
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.
Page 244 - How can the Church build faster? We now are man and wife, and 'tis the Church That must but echo this.

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