The Works of Thomas Middleton,

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Edward Lumley, Chancery Lane., 1840
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Page 328 - Black spirits, and white ; red spirits, and gray ; Mingle, mingle, mingle, you that mingle may. Titty, Tiffin, keep it stiff in ; Firedrake, Puckey, make it lucky ; Liard, Robin, you must bob in. Round, around, around, about, about j All ill come running in ; all good keep out ! ist Witch.
Page 141 - ... this hand, and empty this ; and when the bell shall toll for me, if I prove a swan, and go singing to my nest, why, so ! if a crow, throw me out for carrion, and pick out mine eyes.
Page 490 - Methinks it cannot be too great a wrong That then I should not pardon. Why should Man For a poor hasty syllable or two (And vented only in forgetful fury) Chain all the hopes and riches of his soul To the revenge of that ? die lost for ever ? For he that makes his last peace with his Maker In anger, anger is his peace eternally : He must expect the same return again, Whose venture is deceitful. Must he not, Sir ? Col. I see what I must do, fairly put up again, For here'll be nothing done, I perceive...
Page 50 - Methinks a toad is happier than a whore ; That with one poison swells, with thousands more The other stocks her veins. Harlot ? fie, fie ! You are the miserablest creatures breathing, The very slaves of nature ; mark me else : You put on rich attires, others...
Page 266 - Hah! Hec. Hah, did you feel me there ? I knew your grief. Seb. Can there be such things done ? Hec. Are these the skins Of serpents ? these of snakes ? Seb.
Page 80 - Hip. Stay, and take physic for it ; read this book, Ask counsel of this head, what's to be done ; He'll strike it dead, that 'tis damnation If you turn Turk again. Oh, do it not ! Though...
Page 260 - ... oleum. They stampe all these togither, and then they rubbe all parts of their bodies exceedinglie, till they looke red and be verie hot, so as the pores may be opened and their flesh soluble and loose. They ioine...
Page 302 - There was a bat hung at my lips three times As we came through the woods, and drank her fill : Old Puckle saw her. HEC. You are fortunate still ; The very screech-owl lights upon your shoulder And woos you, like a pigeon.
Page 302 - Stad. Briefly in the copse, As we came through now. Hec. 'Tis high time for us then. Stad. There was a bat hung at my lips three times As we came through the woods, and drank her fill : Old Puckle saw her.
Page 162 - A poor man has but one ewe, and this grandee sheep-biter leaves whole flocks of fat wethers, whom he may knock down, to devour this. I'll trust neither lord nor butcher with quick flesh for this trick ; the cuckoo, I see now, sings all the year, though every man cannot hear him ; but I'll spoil his notes. Can neither love-letters, nor the devil's common pick-locks, gold, nor precious stones make my girl draw up her percullis ? * Hold out still, wench.

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