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aster besore better Bian Bianca Bion brother Catb Catharina Catharine Clown consess Count daughter dost doth Duke Enter Exeunt Exit eyes gentle gentleman give Gremio hand hath hear heart heav'n himsels hither honour Hortensio Illyria is't Kate King knave Lady lise look Lord lov'd Lucentio Madam maid Malvolio marry master mistress never night Olivia Orla Orlando Padua Petruchio Pisa poor pr'ythee pray Rosalind sace saith sather SCENE sellow sels servant shew Signior Sir Andrew Sir Toby sire Sirrah sirst sool sorm sorth sortune sost speak sriends srom surther swear sweet tbou tell thank thee there's theresore thine thing thou art thou hast Tranio Viola What's wilt wise word young youth
Page 30 - Tis but an hour ago since it was nine, And after one hour more 'twill be eleven. And so from hour to hour we ripe and ripe, And then from hour to hour we rot and rot; And thereby hangs a tale.
Page 145 - Thy husband is thy lord, thy life, thy keeper, Thy head, thy sovereign; one that cares for thee, And for thy maintenance: commits his body To painful labour, both by sea and land; To watch the night in storms, the day in cold, While thou liest warm at home, secure and safe ; And craves no other tribute at thy hands, But love, fair looks, and true obedience;— Too little payment for so great a debt.
Page 203 - The web of our life is of a mingled yarn, good and ill together : our virtues would be proud if our faults whipped them not; and our crimes would despair if they were not cherished by our virtues.
Page 21 - To-day my Lord of Amiens, and myself, Did steal behind him as he lay along Under an oak, whose antique root peeps out Upon the brook that brawls along this wood...
Page 20 - The seasons' difference ; as the icy fang, And churlish chiding of the winter's wind ; Which when it bites and blows upon my body, Even till I shrink with cold, I smile, and say,— This is no flattery: these are counsellors That feelingly persuade me what I am.
Page 255 - But let concealment, like a worm i' the bud, Feed on her damask cheek; she pined in thought And with a green and yellow melancholy She sat like patience on a monument, Smiling at grief. Was not this love indeed? We men may say more, swear more: but indeed Our shows are more than will; for still we prove Much in our vows, but little in our love.