The Dramatic Works of John Webster: The white devil. The Duchess of Malfi

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J. Smith, 1857

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Page 243 - Not a whit : What would it pleasure me to have my throat cut With diamonds ? or to be smothered With cassia ; or to be shot to death with pearls ? I know death hath ten thousand several doors For men to take their exits...
Page 127 - CALL for the robin-redbreast and the wren, Since o'er shady groves they hover, And with leaves and flowers do cover The friendless bodies of unburied men. Call unto his funeral dole The ant, the field-mouse, and the mole, To rear him hillocks that shall keep him warm, And (when gay tombs are robb'd) sustain no harm; But keep the wolf far thence, that's foe to men, For with his nails he'll dig them up again.
Page 176 - I thank you, gentle love: And 'cause you shall not come to me in debt, Being now my steward, here upon your lips I sign your Quietus est.
Page 225 - t in better order. Duch. I know not which is best, To see you dead, or part with you. - Farewell, boy : Thou art happy that thou hast not understanding To know thy misery; for all our wit And reading brings us to a truer sense Of sorrow. - In the eternal church, sir...
Page 241 - Let me see it: I have so much obedience in my blood, I wish it in their veins to do them good.
Page 26 - The lives of princes should like dials move, Whose regular example is so strong, They make the times by them go right or wrong.
Page 241 - Most ambitiously. Princes' images on their tombs do not lie, as they were wont, seeming to pray up to heaven ; but with their hands under their cheeks, as if they died of the toothache : they are not carved with their eyes fixed upon the stars; but as their minds were wholly bent upon the world, the selfsame way they seem to turn their faces.
Page 176 - To seem the thing it is not. Go, go brag You have left me heartless; mine is in your bosom: I hope 'twill multiply love there. You do tremble: Make not your heart so dead a piece of flesh, To fear more than to love me. Sir, be confident: What is 't distracts you? This is flesh and blood, sir; Tis not the figure cut in alabaster Kneels at my husband's tomb.
Page 174 - t. Duch. How do you affect it ? Ant. My banishment feeding my melancholy, Would often reason thus. Duch. Pray, let us hear it. Ant. Say a man never marry, nor have children, What takes that from him ? only the bare name Of being a father, or the weak delight To see the little wanton ride a cock-horse Upon a painted stick, or hear him chatter Like a taught starling.
Page 269 - twas a pretty one. You may make it A huntsman, or a falconer, a musician, Or a thing of sorrow.

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