Rule a Wife and Have a Wife: A Comedy in Five Acts

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Longman, Hurst, Rees, Orme, and Brown, 1808 - 78 pages
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Page 47 - Think thyself me; And when thou speak'st (but let it first be long), Take off the edge from every sharper sound, And let our parting be as gently made, As other loves begin: Wilt thou do this?
Page 32 - tis true, I loved you, And kept you far from an uneasy wife, — Such Fulvia was. Yes, but he'll say, you left Octavia for me;— \ And, can you blame me to receive that love, Which quitted such desert, for worthless me?
Page 37 - For foreign aids? — to hunt my memory, And range all o'er a waste and barren place, To find a friend? The wretched have no friends, Yet I had one, the bravest youth of Rome, Whom...
Page 26 - With ardour too heroic, on his foes, Fall down, as she would do, before his feet; Lie in his way, and stop the paths of death. Tell him, this god is not invulnerable; That absent Cleopatra bleeds in him; And, that you may remember her petition, She begs you wear these trifles, as a pawn, Which, at your wished return, she will redeem [Gives jewels to the Commanders.
Page 7 - Of mimic'd statesmen and their merry king. No wit to flatter left of all his store! No fool to laugh at, which he valued more. There, victor of his health, of fortune, friends, And fame, this lord of useless thousands ends.
Page 15 - It sits too near you. Ant. Here, here it lies; a lump of lead by day, And, in my short, distracted, nightly slumbers, The hag that rifles my dreams Vent.
Page 45 - Look on these; Are they not yours ? or stand they thus neglected, As they are mine? Go to him, children, go; Kneel to him, take him by the hand, speak to him ; For you may speak, and he may own you too, Without a blush; and so he cannot all His children: go, I say, and pull him to me, And pull him to yourselves, from that bad woman.
Page 56 - em up, but rather set our feet Upon their heads, to press 'em to the bottom; As, I must yield," with you I practis'd it: But, now I see you in a way to rise, I can and will assist you.
Page 13 - tis my birthday, and I'll keep it With double pomp of sadness. Tis what the day deserves, which gave me breath. Why was I raised the meteor of the world, Hung in the skies, and blazing as I travelled, Till all my fires were spent; and then cast downward To be trod out by Caesar?
Page 10 - Whose riots fed and clothed thee? Wert thou not Born on my father's land, and proud to be A drudge in his house? Tap. What I was, sir, it skills not; What you are, is apparent. Now, for a farewell, Since you talk of father, in my hope it will torment you, I'll briefly tell your story. Your dead father, My quondam master, was a man of worship, Old Sir John Wellborn, justice of peace and quorum, And stood fair to be custos rotulorum...

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