Thomas Dekker; with an Introduction and Notes

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T. F. Unwin, 1887 - 473 pages
 

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Page iv - What things have we seen Done at the Mermaid! Heard words that have been So nimble and so full of subtle flame As if that every one from whence they came Had meant to put his whole wit in a jest, And had resolved to live a fool the rest Of his dull life.
Page 46 - MAYOR. Ha, ha, ha ! I had rather than a thousand pound, I had an heart but half so light as yours.
Page 12 - O let him stay, else I shall be undone. FIRK. Ay, truly, she shall be laid at one side like a pair of old shoes else, and be occupied for no use. LACY. Truly, my friends, it lies not in my power: The Londoners are press'd, paid, and set forth By the lord mayor; I cannot change a man.
Page 43 - Hodge, heave up thine ears ; mistress, smug up 3 your looks ; on with your best apparel ; my master is chosen, my master is called, nay, condemned by the cry of the country to be sheriff of the city for this famous year now to come. And time now being, a great many men in black gowns were asked for their voices and their hands' 1 Serve me, and I'll serve thee.
Page 59 - Firk, dost thou know this shoe? Firk. No, by my troth; neither doth that know me! I have no acquaintance with it, 'tis a mere stranger to me. Ralph. Why, then I do; this shoe, I durst be sworn, Once covered the instep of my Jane. This is her size, her breadth, thus trod my love; These true-love knots I prick'd; I hold my life, Mo By this old shoe I shall find out my wife.
Page 4 - ... and came disguised like a Dutch shoemaker to the house of Simon Eyre in Tower Street, who served the Mayor and his household with shoes : the merriments that passed in Eyre's house, his coming to be Mayor of London,^ Lacy's getting his love, and other accidents, with two merry f^ Three-men's-songs.
Page 62 - Mayor. Believe me, on my credit, I speak truth: Since first your nephew Lacy went to France, I have not seen him. It seemed strange to me. When Dodger told me that he stayed behind.
Page 151 - tis read ; False colours last after the true be dead. Of all the roses grafted on her cheeks, Of all the graces dancing in her eyes, Of all the music set upon her tongue, Of all that was past woman's excellence In her white bosom ; look, a painted board Circumscribes all...
Page 47 - But O, I spy the cuckoo, the cuckoo, the cuckoo; See where she sitteth: come away, my joy; Come away, I prithee: I do not like the cuckoo Should sing where my Peggy and I kiss and toy.
Page 45 - Be as mad knaves as your master Sim Eyre hath been, and you shall live to be Sheriffs of London. — How dost thou like me, Margery? Prince am I none, yet am I princely born.

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