British theatre, comprising tragedies, comedies, operas, and farces; with biogr., critical account and notes, by an Englishman [O. Williams].

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Owen Williams (editor of British theatre)
1830
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Page 490 - I'll never control your choice ; but Mr. Marlow, whom I have pitched upon, is the son of my old friend, Sir Charles Marlow, of whom you have heard me talk so often. The young gentleman has been bred a scholar, and is designed for an employment in the service of his country. I am told he's a man of an excellent understanding.
Page 494 - Yet, George, if we open the campaign too fiercely at first, we may want ammunition before it is over. I think to reserve the embroidery to secure a retreat. HARD. Your talking of a retreat, Mr. Marlow, puts me in mind of the Duke of Marlborough, when we went to besiege Denain.
Page 59 - Glen. Norval, Let not our variance mar the social hour, Nor wrong the hospitality of Randolph. Nor frowning anger, nor yet wrinkled hate, Shall stain my countenance. Smooth thou thy brow : Nor let our strife disturb the gentle dame.
Page 370 - I have offered to so good a lady, with a sincere remorse, and a hearty contrition, can but obtain the least glance of compassion, I am too happy. — Ah, madam, there was a time ! — but let it be forgotten — I confess I have deservedly forfeited the high place I once held of sighing at your feet. Nay, kill me not, by turning from me in disdain.
Page 494 - ... my friends with my back to the fire. I like to give them a hearty reception in the old style at my gate. I like to see their horses and trunks taken care of.
Page i - Lucius seems fond of life; but what is life? 'Tis not to stalk about, and draw fresh air From time to time, or gaze upon the sun; Tis to be free. When liberty is gone, Life grows insipid, and has lost its relish.
Page 15 - It must be so — Plato, thou reasonest well ; Else whence this pleasing hope, this fond desire, This longing after immortality ? Or whence this secret dread, and inward horror, Of falling into nought ? Why shrinks the soul Back on herself, and startles at destruction ? Tis the divinity that stirs within us ; 'Tis heaven itself, that points out an hereafter, And intimates eternity to man ! Eternity ! thou pleasing, dreadful thought ! Through what variety of untried being, Through what new scenes...
Page 351 - To pass our youth in dull indifference, to refuse the sweets of life because they once must leave us, is as preposterous as to wish to have been born old, because we one day must be old.
Page 367 - O madam, if you knew but what he promised me, and how he assured me your ladyship should come to no damage - or else the wealth of the Indies should not have bribed me to conspire against so good, so sweet, so kind a lady as you have been to me. Lady. No damage? What, to betray me, to marry me to a cast serving-man; to make me a receptacle, an hospital for a decayed pimp? No damage?
Page 366 - Well, Sir Rowland, you have the way, You are no Novice in the Labyrinth of Love, You have the Clue But as I am a Person, Sir Rowland, you must not attribute my yielding to any sinister Appetite, or Indigestion of Widowhood ; nor impute my Complacency to any Lethargy of Continence I hope you do not think me prone to any Iteration of Nuptials.

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