British Theatre, Volume 1

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Page 109 - Then hear me, bounteous Heaven ! Pour down your blessings on this beauteous head, Where everlasting sweets are always springing, With a continual giving hand: let peace, Honour, and safety, always hover round her: Feed her with plenty, let her eyes ne'er see A sight of sorrow, nor her heart know mourning: Crown all her days with joy...
Page 23 - The bitterness her tender spirit tastes of, I own myself a coward : bear my weakness, If, throwing thus my arms about thy neck, I play the boy, and blubber in thy bosom : Oh ! I shall drown thee with my sorrows. Pier. Burn, First burn and level Venice to thy ruin ! What ! starve like beggars...
Page 79 - Your fears won't let you, nor the longing itch To hear a story which you dread the truth of: Truth, which the fear of smart, shall ne'er get from me. Cowards are scar'd with threat'nings ; boys are whipt Into confessions : but a steady mind Acts of itself, ne'er asks the body counsel. Give him the tortures...
Page 14 - I received you, Courted, and sought to raise you to your merits : My house, my table, nay my fortune too, My very self, was yours; you might have used me To your best service.
Page 83 - Adriatic, plough' d Like a lewd whore by bolder prows than yours, Stepp'd not I forth, and taught your loose Venetians, The task of honour and the way to greatness...
Page 86 - I have not wrong'd thee, by these tears I have not. But still am honest, true, and hope too, valiant: My mind still full of thee, therefore still noble; Let not thy eyes then shun me, nor thy heart Detest me utterly; oh, look upon me, Look back and see my sad sincere submission ! How my heart swells, as even 'twould burst my bosom; Fond of its gaol, and labouring to be at thee ! What shall I do ? what say to make thee hear me ? Pierr.
Page 26 - ... woman ! lovely woman ! Nature made thee To temper man : we had been brutes without you ; Angels are painted fair, to look like you : There's in you all that we believe of Heaven, Amazing brightness, purity, and truth, Eternal joy, and everlasting love.
Page 33 - And bitterest disquiet wring his heart! Oh, let him live till life become his burden; Let him groan under't long, linger an age In the worst agonies and pangs of death, And find its ease but late!
Page 87 - No, this vile world and I have long been jangling, And cannot part on better terms than now, When only men like thee are fit to live in't.
Page 16 - There's not a wretch that lives on common charity But's happier than me: for I have known The luscious sweets of plenty; every night Have slept with soft content about my head, And never waked but to a joyful morning ; Yet now must fall like a full ear of corn, Whose blossom scaped, yet's withered in the ripening.

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