The Works of the British Dramatists: Carefully Selected from the Original Editions with Biographical Notes, Etc., EtcW.W. Swayne, 1870 - 509 Seiten |
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Seite 103
... Isab . Unto the forest , gentle Mortimer , To live in grief and baleful discontent ; For now my lord the king regards me not , But dotes upon the love of Gaveston : He claps his cheeks , and hangs about his neck , Smiles in his face ...
... Isab . Unto the forest , gentle Mortimer , To live in grief and baleful discontent ; For now my lord the king regards me not , But dotes upon the love of Gaveston : He claps his cheeks , and hangs about his neck , Smiles in his face ...
Seite 104
... Isab . Now is the king of England rich. K. Edw . Whither will you bear him ? stay , or ye shall die . E. Mor . We are no traitors ; therefore threaten not . home . Were I a king- Y. Mor . Thou villain ! wherefore talk'st thou of a king ...
... Isab . Now is the king of England rich. K. Edw . Whither will you bear him ? stay , or ye shall die . E. Mor . We are no traitors ; therefore threaten not . home . Were I a king- Y. Mor . Thou villain ! wherefore talk'st thou of a king ...
Seite 105
... Isab . Whither goes my lord ? K. Edo . Fawn not on me , French strumpet ; get thee gone ! Q. Isab . On whom but on my husband should I fawn ? Gav . On Mortimer ; with whom , ungentle queen- I say no more - judge you the rest , my lord ...
... Isab . Whither goes my lord ? K. Edo . Fawn not on me , French strumpet ; get thee gone ! Q. Isab . On whom but on my husband should I fawn ? Gav . On Mortimer ; with whom , ungentle queen- I say no more - judge you the rest , my lord ...
Seite 106
... Isab . Yet , good my lord , hear what he can allege . War . All that he speaks is nothing ; we are resolv'd . Y. Mor . Do you not wish that Gaveston were dead ? Pem . I would he were ! Y. Mor . Why , then , my lord , give me but leave ...
... Isab . Yet , good my lord , hear what he can allege . War . All that he speaks is nothing ; we are resolv'd . Y. Mor . Do you not wish that Gaveston were dead ? Pem . I would he were ! Y. Mor . Why , then , my lord , give me but leave ...
Seite 107
... Isab . Now is the king of England rich and But , whiles I have a sword , a hand , a heart , strong , I will not yield to any such upstart . You know my mind ; come , uncle , let's away . Bald . Leave off this jesting ; here my lady. Pem ...
... Isab . Now is the king of England rich and But , whiles I have a sword , a hand , a heart , strong , I will not yield to any such upstart . You know my mind ; come , uncle , let's away . Bald . Leave off this jesting ; here my lady. Pem ...
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Absalon Adur Antonio Apel art thou Bacon BACURIUS Bessus blood brother captain Cler Custance dare Daup dear death devil Dion dost doth drama Duch Duke Enter Exeunt Exit eyes Face fair faith father Faustus favour fear Feli Ferd fool fortune Fran Fressingfield Gaveston gentlemen give grace hand hath hear heart heaven hell honour hope Isab Joab king La-F Lacy lady live look lord Macrinus madam Mardonius Marry Master Master Doctor Master Humphrey Mellida Mephistophilis Merry miracle plays mistress Mortimer ne'er never night noble PESCARA Philaster Piero play pray prince Psyllus Ralph Re-enter Roister servant Sfor sister soul speak sweet sword tell thee Theoph there's thine thing thou art thou hast thou shalt thought Thra Tigranes True twill unto Wendoll wife woman word
Beliebte Passagen
Seite 120 - Her lips suck forth my soul, see where it flies! Come Helen, come, give me my soul again. Here will I dwell, for heaven is in these lips, And all is dross that is not Helena.
Seite 108 - And, seeing there was no place to mount up higher, Why should I grieve at my declining fall? — Farewell, fair queen; weep not for Mortimer, That scorns the world, and, as a traveller, Goes to discover countries yet unknown.
Seite 163 - Still to be neat, still to be drest, As you were going to a feast ; Still to be powdered, still perfumed : Lady, it is to be presumed, Though art's hid causes are not found, All is not sweet, all is not sound. Give me a look, give me a face, That makes simplicity a grace : Robes loosely flowing, hair as free : Such sweet neglect more taketh me, Than all the adulteries of art ; They strike mine eyes, but not my heart.
Seite 112 - Why, this is hell, nor am I out of it. Think'st thou that I, who saw the face of God, And tasted the eternal joys of heaven, Am not tormented with ten thousand hells, In being depriv'd of everlasting bliss? O, Faustus, leave these frivolous demands, Which strike a terror to my fainting soul!
Seite l - With these, the crystal of his brow, And then the dimple of his chin. All these did my Campaspe win. At last he set her both his eyes. She won, and Cupid blind did rise. O Love! has she done this to thee? What shall, alas ! become of me?
Seite 317 - Of what is't fools make such vain keeping? Sin their conception, their birth weeping, Their life a general mist of error, Their death a hideous storm of terror. Strew your hair with powders sweet, Don clean linen, bathe your feet, And (the foul fiend more to check) A crucifix let bless your neck : 'Tis now full tide 'tween night and day ; End your groan, and come away.
Seite 56 - He that ruleth over men must be just, ruling in the fear of God ; and he shall be as the light of the morning, when the sun riseth, even a morning without clouds ; as the tender grass springing out of the earth by clear shining after rain.
Seite 56 - Although my house be not so with God; yet he hath made with me an everlasting covenant, ordered in all things, and sure: for this is all my salvation, and all my desire, although he make it not to grow.
Seite 110 - All things that move between the quiet poles Shall be at my command : emperors and kings Are but obeyed in their several provinces, Nor can they raise the wind or rend the clouds ; But his dominion that exceeds in this Stretcheth as far as doth the mind of man, A sound magician is a mighty god : Here, Faustus, tire thy brains to gain a deity.
Seite 114 - And long ere this I should have slain myself, Had not sweet pleasure conquered deep despair, Have not I made blind Homer sing to me Of Alexander's love and CEnon's death? And hath not he that built the walls of Thebes With ravishing sound of his melodious harp, Made music with my Mephistophilis ? Why should I die then, or basely despair ? I am resolved.- Faustus shall ne'er repent— Come, Mephistophilis, let us dispute again, And argue of divine Astrology.