The Shakespeare Apocrypha: Being a Collection of Fourteen Plays which Have Been Ascribed to Shakespeare

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Tucker Brooke
Clarendon Press, 1908 - 455 pages
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Page ix - The First part of the Contention betwixt the two famous Houses of Yorke and Lancaster...
Page 311 - t in a woman's key, like such a woman As any of us three ; weep ere you fail; Lend us a knee ; But touch the ground for us no longer time Than a dove's motion, when the head 's pluck'd off; Tell him, if he i' the blood-siz'd field lay swoln, Showing the sun his teeth, grinning at the moon, What you would do ! Hip.
Page xxxvii - And shew this but the same face you have done Your dear delight, The Devil of Edmonton.
Page 341 - Add'st flames, hotter than his; the heavenly fires Did scorch his mortal son, thine him. The huntress All moist and cold, some say, began to throw Her bow away, and sigh. Take to thy grace Me thy...
Page 348 - O you heavenly charmers, What things you make of us ! For what we lack We laugh, for what we have are sorry ; still Are children in some kind.
Page 5 - henceforward know me not"? Remember, when I lock'd thee in my closet, What were thy words and mine; did we not both Decree to murder Arden in the night? The heavens can witness, and the world can tell, Before I saw that falsehood look of thine, 'Fore I was tangled with thy 'ticing speech...
Page 342 - pointed, but do not know him ; out of two I should choose one; and pray for his success, but I am guiltless of election...
Page 309 - m sure It has a noble breeder and a pure, A learned ; and a poet never went More famous yet 'twixt Po and silver Trent: Chaucer, of all admir'd, the story gives ; There constant to eternity it lives. If we let fall the nobleness of this, And the first sound this child hear be a hiss, How will it shake the bones of that good man, And make him cry from under ground, O, fan From me the witless chaff of such a writer, That blasts my bays, and my famd works makes lighter Than Robin Hood...
Page 337 - I'll choose, And end their strife : two such young handsome men Shall never fall for me ; their weeping mothers, Following the dead-cold ashes of their sons, Shall never curse my cruelty. Good heaven, What a sweet face has Arcite ! If wise Nature, With all her best endowments, all those beauties She sows into the births of noble bodies, Were here a mortal woman, and had in her The coy denials of young maids, yet doubtless She would run mad for this man : what an eye, Of what a fiery sparkle and...
Page 310 - That does good turns to th' world ; give us the bones Of our dead kings, that we may chapel them ! And of thy boundless goodness, take some note That for our crowned heads we have no roof Save this, which is the lion's and the bear's, And vault to every thing ! Thes.

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