The Works of John Webster: With Some Account of the Author, and Notes

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Routledge, Warne, and Routledge, 1859 - 383 Seiten
 

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Seite 77 - Mongst quiet kindred that had nothing left By their dead parents : ' Stay,' quoth Reputation, ' Do not forsake me ; for it is 'my nature, If once I part from any man I meet, I am never found again.
Seite 88 - Most ambitiously. Princes' images on their tombs do not lie, as they were wont, seeming to pray up to heaven; but with their hands under their cheeks, as if they died of the toothache...
Seite 65 - Are forc'd to express our violent passions In riddles and in dreams, and leave the path Of simple virtue, which was never made To seem the thing it is not. Go, go brag You have left me heartless; mine is in your bosom: I hope 'twill multiply love there. You do tremble: Make not your heart so dead a piece of flesh, To fear more than to love me.
Seite 67 - Though we are eaten up of lice and worms, And though continually we bear about us A rotten and dead body, we delight To hide it in rich tissue...
Seite 86 - But hold some two days' conference with the dead ! From them I should learn somewhat, I am sure, I never shall know here. I'll tell thee a miracle ; I am not mad...
Seite 50 - My soul, like to a ship in a black storm, \ Is driven, I know not whither.
Seite 61 - Then the law to him Is like a foul black cobweb to a spider, — He makes it his dwelling and a prison To entangle those shall feed him.
Seite 98 - Ant. Echo, I will not talk with thee, For thou art a dead thing. Echo. Thou art a dead thing.
Seite 49 - I am too true a woman ! Conceit can never kill me. I'll tell thee what, I will not in my death shed one base tear ; Or if look pale, for want of blood, not fear.

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