Cumberland's British Theatre: With Remarks, Biographical and Critical, Volume 7

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George Daniel, John Cumberland
J. Cumberland, 1826 - English drama
 

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Page 18 - Well believe this, No ceremony that to great ones 'longs, Not the king's crown, nor the deputed sword, The marshal's truncheon, nor the judge's robe, Become them with one half so good a grace, As mercy does.
Page 29 - Thou hast nor youth, nor age ; But, as it were, an after-dinner's sleep, Dreaming on both: for all thy blessed youth Becomes as aged, and doth beg the alms Of palsied eld...
Page 29 - Be absolute for death; either death, or life, Shall thereby be the sweeter. Reason thus with life,— If I do lose thee, I do lose a thing That none but fools would keep:* a breath thou art...
Page 18 - Alas ! alas ! Why, all the souls that were, were forfeit once ; And he that might the 'vantage best have took, Found out the remedy : how would you be, If he, which is the top of judgment, should But judge you, as you are?
Page 30 - Claudio; and I quake, Lest thou a feverous life shouldst entertain, And six or seven winters more respect Than a perpetual honour. Dar'st thou die ? The sense of death is most in apprehension ; And the poor beetle that we tread upon, In corporal sufferance finds a pang as great As when a giant dies.
Page 32 - Admired Miranda ! Indeed the top of admiration ; worth What's dearest to the world ! Full many a lady I have eyed with best regard ; and many a time The harmony of their tongues hath into bondage Brought my too diligent ear...
Page 33 - The bigger bulk it shows. Hence, bashful cunning! And prompt me, plain and holy innocence! I am your wife, if you will marry me; If not, I'll die your maid. To be your fellow You may deny me; but I'll be your servant, Whether you will or no.
Page 12 - From too much liberty, my Lucio, liberty ; As surfeit is the father of much fast, So every scope by the immoderate use Turns to restraint; our natures do pursue (Like rats that ravin down their proper bane,) A thirsty evil ; and when we drinK, we die.
Page 24 - Where should this music be ? i' the air, or the earth ? It sounds no more: — and sure, it waits upon Some god of the island. Sitting on a bank, Weeping again the king my father's wreck, This music crept by me upon the waters; Allaying both their fury, and my passion, With its sweet air: thence I have follow'd it, Or it hath drawn me rather: — But 'tis gone.
Page 31 - Ay, but to die, and go we know not where ; To lie in cold obstruction, and to rot ; This sensible warm motion to become A kneaded clod ; and the delighted spirit To bathe in fiery floods...

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