What people are saying - Write a review
We haven't found any reviews in the usual places.
Other editions - View all
Agrip Andel beare beautie becauſe beſt Captaine Court crowne death Dekker downe eares Enter euery Exeunt Exit eyes Eyre face faire Fane Father Firke firſt follow foole Fortune giue gold grace haire hand hath haue head heart heauen heere Hodge hold honour hope King Lacy Lady leaue London looke Lord loue Maieſtie Maior maſter meane miſtris moſt muſt neuer ouer Peace play Poet poore pray Prince purſe Raph rich Rofe ſay ſee ſelfe ſet Shad Shaddow ſhall ſhe ſhee ſhould Sibill Sir Vau ſome ſoule ſpeake ſtand ſtill ſuch ſweet tell thanke thee theſe thine thinke thoſe thou thou ſhalt tongue true Tucca turne Vaughan Vertue Vice vpon weare whoſe wife
Page 44 - Welcome home, Master Shrieve. I pray God continue you in health and wealth. Eyre See here, my Maggy, a chain, a gold chain for Simon Eyre. I shall make thee a lady.
Page 31 - EYRE. Let it pass, let it vanish away ; peace ! Am I not Simon Eyre? Are not these my brave men, brave shoemakers, all gentlemen of the gentle craft? Prince am I none, yet am I nobly...
Page 75 - I pray thee, good lord mayor, be even as merry As if thou wert among thy shoemakers; It does me good to see thee in this humour. Eyre. Say'st thou me so, my sweet Dioclesian? Then, humph!
Page xxviii - tough senior,' this impracticable old gentleman softens into a little child; this choke-pear melts in the mouth like marmalade. In spite of his resolute professions of misanthropy, he watches over his daughter with kindly solicitude; plays the careful housewife; broods over her lifeless hopes; nurses the decay of her husband's fortune, as he had supported her tottering infancy; saves the high-flying Matheo from the gallows more...
Page 48 - And for she thinks me wanton, she denies To cheer my cold heart with her sunny eyes. How prettily she works, oh pretty hand!
Page 56 - Thou lie with a woman to build nothing but Cripple-gates ! Well, God sends fools fortune, and it may be, he may light upon his matrimony by such a device ; for wedding and hanging goes by destiny. [Exit.
Page 75 - I'll shave it off, and stuff tennis-balls with it, to please my bully king. King. But all this while I do not know your age. Eyre. My liege, I am six and fifty year old, yet I can cry humph ! with a sound heart for the honour of Saint Hugh.
Page 259 - Poet does play at bo-peepes with your Grace, and cryes all-hidde as boyes doe. Officers. Stand by, roome there, backe, roome for the Poet. Sir Va.