The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, Volume 9

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J. and R. Tonson and S. Draper, 1750

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Page 453 - Given ear-rings we will wear, Bracelets of our lovers' hair, Which they on our arms shall twist, With their names carved on our wrist ; All the money that we owe We in tokens will bestow ; And learn to write, that, when...
Page 202 - Woman, they say, was only made of man : Methinks 'tis strange they should be so unlike ! It may be, all the best was cut away To make the woman, and the naught was left Behind with him...
Page 347 - Of other metal, fiery, quick, and active. Shall we take our fortune ? and, while our cold fathers (In whom long since their youthful heats were dead) Talk much of Mars, serve under Venus' ensigns, And seek a mistress ? Ces.
Page 501 - Ura. Feth, for love : I would not let you know till I was dying ; For you could not love me, my mother was so naught.
Page 44 - tis too much pride to send for her; We'll go ourself ; no honour is enough For Polidora, to redeem our fault: Salute her gently from me, and upon Your knee present her with this diadem ; 'Tis our first gift:— tell her Demetrius follows To be her...
Page 386 - Without breach then Of modesty, I come to claim the interest Your protestations, both by vows and letters, Have made me owner of : From the first hour I saw you, I confess I wish'd...
Page 101 - Wilt thou upon the high and giddy mast Seal up the ship-boy's eyes, and rock his brains In cradle of the rude imperious surge, And in the visitation of the winds, Who take the ruffian billows by the top, Curling their monstrous heads and hanging them With deaf ning clamour in the slippery clouds, That, with the hurly, death itself awakes...
Page 3 - tis become the title of our play, ' A woman once in a Coronation may ' With pardon speak the prologue, give as free ' A welcome to the theatre, as he ' That with a little beard, a long black cloak ' With a starch'd face and supple leg hath spoke ' Before the plays the [this] twelvemonth : let me then ' Present a welcome to these gentlemen.
Page 216 - Mother. Go, whimling, and fetch two or three grating loaves Out of the kitchen, to make gingerbread of.
Page 229 - For God's sake urge your faults no more, but mend ! All the forgiveness I can make you, is, To love you ; which I will do, and desire Nothing but love again ; which if I have not, Yet I will love you still.

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