The Works of Francis Beaumont and John Fletcher, 4. sējums

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

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138. lappuse - Sleep was not gentler than my soul, and stiller. You had the spring of my affections, And my fair fruits I gave you leave to taste of; You must expect the winter of mine anger. You flung me off, before the court...
75. lappuse - No, Septimius? To be a Roman were an honour to you, Did not your manners and your life take from it, And cry aloud, that from Rome you bring nothing But Roman vices, which you would plant here, But no seed of her virtues.
270. lappuse - At least, a little squaring, yet remember, We are but subjects, Maximus ; obedience To what is done, and grief for what is ill done Is all we can call ours.
135. lappuse - I am a fool to fret thus for a fool, An old blind fool too ; I lose my health : I will not, I will not cry ; I will not honour him With tears diviner than the gods he worships ; I will not take the pains to curse a poor thing.
75. lappuse - Who sells her honour for a diamond, Who for a tissue robe ; whose husband's jealous, And who so kind, that, to share with his wife, Will make the match himself : Harmless conceits, Though fools say they are dangerous. I sang it The last night at my lord Photinus
207. lappuse - Yet I dare swear her honest. Champ. So I think too, On better judgment. I am no Italian, To lock her up ; nor would I be a Dutchman, To have my wife my sovereign, to command me...
102. lappuse - And, now you've found the nature of a conqueror That you cannot decline, with all your flatteries; That, where the day gives light, will be himself still ; Know how to meet his worth with humane courtesies!
53. lappuse - Yes, you are set Upon a bench of justice ; and a day Will come — hear this, and quake, ye potent great ones ! — When you yourselves shall stand before a judge, Who in a pair of scales will weigh your actions, Without abatement of one grain : as then You would be found full weight, I charge ye, fathers, Let me have justice now ! Pos, Lord Cassilane, What strange distemperature provokes distrust Of our impartiality ? Be sure We'll flatter w no man's injuries.
314. lappuse - No more ; I have too much on't, Too much by you, you whetters of my follies, Ye angel-formers of my sins, but devils ! Where is your cunning now ? you would work wonders, There was no chastity above your...
123. lappuse - That we may" ever thank Sept. Why, call me any thing, No matter for my name — that may betray me. See. A cunning thief! Call him Septimius, soldiers, The villain, that killed Pompey ! AH.

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