Husband Hunting, Or, The Mother and Daughters: A Tale of Fashionable Life, Volume 2

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G.B. Whittaker, Ave Maria Lane, 1825
 

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Page 236 - She's beautiful, and therefore to be wooed; She is a woman, therefore to be won.
Page 252 - Not in folio. is ! my gorge rises at it. Here hung those lips, that I have kissed I know not how oft. Where be your gibes now ? your gambols ? your songs ? your flashes of merriment, that were wont to set the table on a roar? Not one now, to mock your own grinning1 ? quite chapfallen ? Now, get you to my lady's chamber, and tell her, let her paint an ineh thick, to this favour she must come : make her laugh at that. — Pr'ythee, Horatio, tell me one thing. Hor. What 's that, my lord ? Ham. Dost...
Page 113 - Beware Of entrance to a quarrel, but being in, Bear't that the opposed may beware of thee. Give every man thine ear, but few thy voice; Take each man's censure, but reserve thy judgment.
Page 250 - Content!' to that which grieves my heart, And wet my cheeks with artificial tears, And frame my face to all occasions.
Page 95 - Tis false; no law divine condemns the virtuous, For differing from the rules your schools devise. Look round, how Providence bestows alike Sunshine and rain, to bless the fruitful year, On different nations, all of different faiths : And...
Page 153 - Prince! I blush to think what I have said, But fate has wrested the confession from me; Go on, and prosper in the paths of honour, Thy virtue will excuse my passion for thee, And make the Gods propitious to our love.
Page 183 - Not with the living ; They feed upon opinions, errors, dreams, And make 'em truths ; they draw a nourishment Out of defamings, grow upon disgraces ; And, when they see a virtue fortified Strongly above the battery of their tongues, Oh, how they cast to sink it ! and, defeated, (Soul-sick with poison) strike the monuments Where noble names lie sleeping, till they sweat, And the cold marble melt.
Page 127 - ... that the busy world at least in this Would take example from a wretch like me! None then would waste their hours in foreign thoughts, Forget themselves and what concerns their peace, To tread the mazes of fantastic Falsehood, To haunt her idle sounds and flying tales Through all the giddy, noisy courts of rumour; Malicious slander never would have leisure...
Page 45 - ... by death ! Or ne'er to meet, or ne'er to part, is peace. — NARCISSA ! Pity bleeds at thought of thee ; Yet thou wast only near me ; not myself. 1060 Survive myself] — That cures all other woe.
Page 81 - Each circumstance ; consider, above all, That it is jealousy's peculiar nature To swell small things to great ; nay, out of nought To conjure much, and then to lose its reason Amid the hideous phantoms it has form'd. Alon. Had I ten thousand lives, I'd give them all To be deceived. I fear 'tis doomsday with me.

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