Bianca Cappello

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Page 197 - Nor is it aught, if from the censuring world I can but hide it. Reputation, Thou art a word, no more ! — But thou hast shown An impudence so high, that to the world I fear thou wilt betray or shame thyself.
Page 9 - Have you not love enough to bear with me, When that rash humour which my mother gave me Makes me forgetful ? Bru. Yes, Cassius ; and, from henceforth, When you are over-earnest with your Brutus, He'll think your mother chides, and leave you so.
Page 87 - Ben. Lawyer, I believe there's many a cranny and leak unstopped in your conscience. — If so be that one had a pump to your bosom, I believe we should discover a foul hold. They say a witch will sail in a sieve, — but I believe the devil would not venture aboard o
Page 139 - But these less taste them, as they worse obtain. Say, in pursuit of profit or delight, Who risk the most, that take wrong means, or right? Of vice or virtue, whether blest or curst, Which meets contempt, or which compassion first? Count all th...
Page 43 - It is decreed ; and we must yield to fate, Whose angry justice, though it threaten ruin, Contempt, and poverty, is all but trial Of a weak woman's constancy in suffering. Here in a stranger's, and an enemy's land, Forsaken and unfurnish'd of all hopes, But such as wait on misery, I range To meet affliction wheresoe'er I tread.
Page 257 - BUT man is higher than his dwelling-place ; he looks up and unfolds the wings of his soul, and when the sixty minutes which we call sixty years have passed, he takes flight, kindling as he rises, and the ashes of his feathers fall...
Page 22 - twas none), the pattern of all vvjt, Art without art, unparallel'd as yet. Next Nature only help'd him, for look thorough This whole book*, thou shall find he doth not borrow One phrase from Greeks, nor Latins imitate, Nor once from vulgar languages translate ; Nor plagiary-like from others gleane, Nor begs he from each witty friend a scene To piece his acts with : all that he doth write Is pure his own ; plot, language, exquisite.
Page 227 - O father, what a hell of witchcraft lies In the small orb of one particular tear! But with the inundation of the eyes What rocky heart to water will not wear? What breast so cold that is not warmed here?
Page 22 - And thou shalt find her honourable, boy; Full of regard unto thy tender youth, For thine own modesty; and, for my sake, Apter to give than thou wilt be to ask, Ay, or deserve. Bel. Sir, you did take me up When I was nothing ; and only yet am something By being yours.
Page 1 - GIVE place, ye lovers, here before That spent your boasts and brags in vain ; My Lady's beauty passeth more The best of yours, I dare well sayen, Than doth the sun the candle light, Or brightest day the darkest night. And thereto hath a troth as just As had Penelope the fair ; For what she saith, ye may it trust, As it by writing sealed were : And virtues hath she many mo...

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