The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, Volumen7

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

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Página 171 - Thou despised fool, Thou only sign of man, how I contemn thee ! Thou woven worthy in a piece of arras, Fit only to enjoy a wall...
Página 413 - Diablo ! what should you do in the kitchen ? cannot the cooks lick their fingers, without your overseeing ? nor the maids make pottage, except your dog's head be in the pot ? Don Lucio ? Don Quot-quean, Don Spinster ! wear a petticoat still, and put on your smock a' Monday ; I will have a baby o' clouts made for it, like a great girl ;" — where " Quot-quean" is a corrupt form of
Página 160 - HE that fears death or tortures, let him leave me; The stops that we have met with crown our conquest. Common attempts are fit for common men; The rare, the rarest spirits. Can we be daunted ? We that have smiled at sea at certain ruins, Which men on shore but hazarded would shake at? We that have...
Página 130 - Sufficient to to-day are the duties of to-day. Don't waste life in doubts and fears ; spend yourself on the work before you, well assured that the right performance of this hour's duties will be the best preparation for the hours or ages that follow it. " The name of death was never terrible To him that knew to live.
Página 130 - When we grow great, but our affection greater, And struggle with this stubborn twin, born with us, And tug and pull, yet still we find a giant : Had we not then the privilege to sleep Our everlasting sleep, he would make us idiots. The memory and monuments of good men Are more than lives ; and though their tombs want tongues, Yet have they eyes that daily sweat their losses, And such a tear from stone no time can value.
Página 373 - My very soul dotes on thee, and my spirits Do embrace thine ; my mind doth thy mind kiss ; And in this pure conjunction we enjoy A heavenlier pleasure than if bodies met : This, this is perfect love ! the other short, Yet languishing fruition. Every swain And sweating groom may clasp, but ours refined Two in ten ages cannot reach unto.
Página 395 - Go, fetch my work. This ruff was not well starch'd, So tell the maid ; 't has too much blue in it : And look you that the partridge and the pullen Have clean meat and fresh water, or my mother Is like to hear on't.
Página 106 - Till this minute, I never heard thee speak ! Oh, more than woman, And more to be beloved ! can I find out A cabinet to lock a secret in, Of equal trust to thee ? All doubts and fears, That scandalize your sex, be far from me ! Thou shalt partake my near and dearest counsels, And further them with thine. Jul. I will be faithful.
Página 24 - tis no dishonour, sister, To love, nor to love him you do ; he is a gentleman Of as sweet hopes as years, as many promises As there be growing truths, and great ones.
Página 261 - What motley stuff is this ? Sirrah, speak truth. What hath befallen my dear Antonio ? Restrain your pity in concealing it ; Tell me the danger full. Take off your care Of my receiving it ; kill me that way, I'll forgive my death ! What thou keep'st back from truth, Thou shalt speak in pain : do not look to find A limb in his right place, a bone unbroke, Nor so much flesh unbroil'd of all that mountain, As a worm might sup on — dispatch or be dispatch'd.

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