The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, Volume 5

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J. and R. Tonson and S. Draper, 1750
 

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Page 14 - From this place, Good, noble sir, remove me instantly. And for a time, where nothing but yourself. And honest conversation may come near me, In some secure place settle me. What I am, And why thus boldly I commit my credit Into a...
Page 9 - ... twere possible, I wish it with my soul, so much I tremble T' offend the sacred image of my Maker, My sword should only kill his crimes : no, 'tis Honour, honour, my noble friends, that idol honour, That all the world now worships, not Petruchio, Must do this justice.
Page 6 - Pr'ythee, be thou sober, And know that they are none of those, not guilty Of the least vanity of love : only a doubt Fame might too far report, or rather flatter The graces of this woman, made them curious To find the truth ; which, since they find so, Lock'd up from their searches ; they are now resolv'd To give the wonder over.
Page 13 - Well lin'd within. To leave it here were barbarous, And ten to one would kill it ; a worse sin Than his that got it. Well, I will dispose on't, And keep it as they keep death's heads in rings, To cry memento to me — no more peeping.
Page 10 - Which all good governments are jealous of. I'll home and think at liberty. Yet, certain, 'Tis not...
Page 242 - You ! you are Amadis de Gaul, sir. — Oh ! oh, my heart! Were you never in love, fair lady? And do you never dream of flowers and gardens : — I dream of walking fires, and tall gigantic sights.
Page 17 - Land. But, son John John. I know your meaning, mother, touch it once more. Alas ! you look not well, take a round draught, It warms the blood well, and restores the colour, And then we'll talk at large.
Page 50 - John. Hawking, I take it. Petr. They are so; 'tis the duke, 'tis even he, gentlemen. Sirrah, draw back the horses till we call ye.
Page 50 - I know him by his company. Fred. I think too He bends up this way. Petr. So he does. John. Stand you still Within that covert till I call.
Page 35 - Fred. Come in, and dry your eyes. John. Pray no more weeping: Spoil a sweet face for nothing! My return Shall end all this, I warrant ye.

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