The Dramatic Works of John Ford: With an Introduction, and Notes Critical and Explanatory, Volume 2 |
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Page 170
I'll tell thee : when thou wishest ill , Corn , man , or beast wouldst spoil or kill ;
Turn thy back against the sun , And mumble this short orison : If thou to death or
shame pursue em , Šanctibicetur nomen tuum . though he be curst to thee , ] i . e
...
I'll tell thee : when thou wishest ill , Corn , man , or beast wouldst spoil or kill ;
Turn thy back against the sun , And mumble this short orison : If thou to death or
shame pursue em , Šanctibicetur nomen tuum . though he be curst to thee , ] i . e
...
Page 171
If thou to death or shame pursue ' em , Sanctibicetur nomen tuum . Dog . Perfect :
farewell ! Our first - made promises We ' ll put in execution against Banks . [ Exit .
Saw . Contaminetur nomen tuum . I'm an expert scholar ; ' Speak Latin , or I ...
If thou to death or shame pursue ' em , Sanctibicetur nomen tuum . Dog . Perfect :
farewell ! Our first - made promises We ' ll put in execution against Banks . [ Exit .
Saw . Contaminetur nomen tuum . I'm an expert scholar ; ' Speak Latin , or I ...
Page 179
Of death or graves thou art so rare a goodness ; As Death would rather put itself
to death , Than murder thee ; but we , as all things else , Are mutable and
changing . Sus . Yet you still move In your first sphere of discontent . Sweet ,
chase ...
Of death or graves thou art so rare a goodness ; As Death would rather put itself
to death , Than murder thee ; but we , as all things else , Are mutable and
changing . Sus . Yet you still move In your first sphere of discontent . Sweet ,
chase ...
Page 259
The tomb is opened , out of which rises FERNANDO in his winding sheet , and ,
as CARAFFA is going in , puts him back . Fern . Forbear ! what art thou that dost
rudely press Into the confines of forsaken graves ? Hath death no privilege ?
The tomb is opened , out of which rises FERNANDO in his winding sheet , and ,
as CARAFFA is going in , puts him back . Fern . Forbear ! what art thou that dost
rudely press Into the confines of forsaken graves ? Hath death no privilege ?
Page 260
Come out , or by the thunder of my rage , Thou diest a death more fearful than the
scourge Of death can whip thee with . Fern . Of death ? poor duke ! Why that's the
aim I shoot at ; ' t is not threats ( Maugre thy power , or the spite of hell ) Shall ...
Come out , or by the thunder of my rage , Thou diest a death more fearful than the
scourge Of death can whip thee with . Fern . Of death ? poor duke ! Why that's the
aim I shoot at ; ' t is not threats ( Maugre thy power , or the spite of hell ) Shall ...
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