A Select Collection of Old Plays: Andromana, or The merchant's wife

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J. Nichols, 1780 - English drama
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Page 300 - And lastly farewell Thou, fairest of many, Yet by far more unfortunate ! — look up, And see a crown held for thee ; win it, and die Love's martyr, the sad map of injury.
Page 160 - Oh, the clowns that I have seen in my time. The very peeping out of one of them would have Made a young heir laugh, though his father lay...
Page 88 - The consecrated altar in a man : And all their hopes will be beguil'd in me ; I know no more the way to temporal rule, Than he that's born and has his years come to him In a rough desert.
Page 179 - London, / Printed for Henry Herringman, and are to be fold at his / Shop at the Sign of the Blew-Anchor in the Lower- / Walk of the New-Exchange.
Page 532 - London, \ Printed by JM for Henry Herringman, and are to be fold at \ his Shop, at the Blew- Anchor, in the lower Walk of the New- \ Exchange, 1660.
Page 281 - I bid him try her, Yet I did not bid him bid her with one eye Love me, and with the other wink at a friend. How we long to grow familiar with affliction...
Page 441 - ... on ; and upon these, as their pages, let me have wait your Sussex wheatear, with a feather in his cap; over all which let our countryman, general Chine of beef, command. I hate your French pottage, that looks as the cook maid had more hand in it than the cook.
Page 389 - He was an excellent proficient in astrology, whose excellent verses upon the twelve months, framed according to the configurations of each month, being blessed with success according to his predictions, procured him much reputation all over England : he was a very honest man...
Page 299 - Print protestations on their breasts, and sigh, And look so truly, and then weep again, And then protest again, and again dissemble ! — When once enjoy'd, like strange sights, we grow stale, And find our comforts, like their wonder, fail. Phil. Oh, Lorenzo ! Look upon tears, each one of which...
Page 415 - Sblood, I thought you had been sunk : I have been hunting you these four hours. Death ! you might ha' left word where you went, and not put me to hunt like Tom Fool. 'Tis well you are at London, where you know the way home. WILD. Why in choler ? We have been all this while searching you. Come, this is put on to divert me from claiming your promise. I must see the wench.

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