Falstaff's Wedding: A Comedy

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Printed for, and under the direction of George Cawthorn, British Library, Strand, 1797 - English drama - 92 pages
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Page 97 - Blood, the heart blood of Brutus, on his child; For thou must die, my Titus; die, my son: I swear the gods have doom'd thee to the grave. The violated genius of thy country Rears his sad head, and passes sentence on thee : This morning sun, that lights thy sorrows on To the tribunal of this horrid vengeance, Shall never see thee more.
Page 99 - Without a groan, without one pitying tear (If that the gods can hold me to my purpose), To make my justice quite transcend example.
Page 100 - And 1, alas ! am doom'd to see him die. Where are your healing arts, medicinal herbs, Ye holy men, your wonder-working spells ? Pluck me but out this shaft, stanch but this blood, And I will call down blessings on your heads With such a fervency— And can ye not ! , Then let me beg you on my bended knee, Give to my misery some opiate drug, • May shut up all my senses.
Page 15 - I have been informed by an actor who was present, that while Lee was reading to major Mohun at a rehearsal, Mohun in the warmth of his admiration threw down his part . and said — " Unless I were able to play it as well as you read it, to what purpose should I undertake it...
Page 99 - Sir, why should you make my heart suspect That all your late compassion was dissembled? How can I think that you did ever love me?
Page 30 - fore th' autumnal moon ? When, in undulating twine, The foaming snakes prolific join ; When they hiss, and when they bear Their wond'rous egg aloof in air ; Thence, before to earth it fall, The Druid, in his hallow'd pall, Receives the prize ; And instant flies, Follow'd by th' envenom'd brood, 'Till he cross the chrystal flood.
Page 75 - Late as I landed on yon highest beach, Where nodding from the rocks the poplars fling Their scatter'd arms, and dash them in the wave, There were their vessels moor'd, as if they sought Concealment in the shade, and as I past Up yon thick-planted ridge, I 'spy'd their helms 'Mid brakes and boughs trench'd in the heath below, Where like a nest of night-worms did they glitter, Sprinkling the plain with brightness. On I sped With silent step, yet oft did pass so near, 'Twas next to prodigy I 'scap'd...
Page 97 - Friends weeping round us, crapes, and obsequies, Make it a dreadful thing ; the pomp of death Is far more terrible than death itself. Yes, Sir ; I call the powers of Heaven to witness, Titus dares die, if so you have decreed ; Nay, he shall die with joy to honor Brutus.
Page 79 - Heav'n's pure divinities, as us the stench Of vapour wafted from sulphureous pool, Or pois'nous weed obscene. Hence doth the man, Who ev'n converses with a villain, need As much purgation, as the pallid wretch 'Scap'd from the walls, where frowning Pestilence Spreads wide her livid banners.
Page 97 - Thou perfect glory of the Junian race ! Let me endear thee once more to my bosom ; Groan an eternal farewell to thy soul ; Instead of tears, weep blood, if possible : Blood, the heart-blood of Brutus, on his child ; For thou must die, my Titus ; die, my son : I ewear the god have doom'd thee to the grave.

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