The Busy Body: A Comedy. Adapted for Theatrical Representation, as Performed at the Theatres-Royal, Drury-Lane and Covent Garden ...
John Bell, 1797 - 112 Seiten
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Alex Antony arms bear bring Cæsar cann't Charles Cleo Cleopatra Clin colonel comes dare Darl dear death devil Enter Exit eyes face faith fall father fear follow fool fortune give gone half hand hast hear heart Heav'n hold honour hope hour I'll Isab Jealous keep lady leave letter live look lord lost Lure madam matter mean meet Miran mistress Mont nature never night once Patch play poor pray Saint Valori SCENE sent Serv servant Sir Fran Sir Geo sir George Sir Harry Sir Jeal Smug soul speak Stand stay suppose sure tell thee there's thing thou thought truth turn Vent Ventidius wife Wild woman young
Seite 12 - Lie there, thou shadow of an emperor; The place thou pressest on thy mother earth Is all thy empire now: now it contains thee; Some few days hence, and then 'twill be too large, When thou'rt contracted in thy narrow urn, Shrunk to a few cold ashes; then Octavia (For Cleopatra will not live to see it), Octavia then will have...
Seite 46 - As meeting streams, both to ourselves were lost; We were one mass; we could not give or take, But from the same; for he was I, I he.
Seite 56 - Dolabella, which way shall I turn? I find a secret yielding in my soul ; But Cleopatra, who would die with me, Must she be left? Pity pleads for Octavia; But does it not plead more for Cleopatra ? Vent.
Seite 64 - Men are but children of a larger growth ; Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, And full as craving too, and full as vain ; And yet the soul, shut up in her dark room, Viewing so clear abroad, at home sees nothing; But, like a mole in earth, busy and blind, Works all her folly up, and casts it outward To the world's open view...
Seite 103 - Caesar's pride? What! to be led in triumph through the streets, A spectacle to base plebeian eyes; While some dejected friend of Antony's, Close in a corner, shakes his head, and mutters A secret curse on her who ruin'd him?
Seite 13 - I'm now turned wild, a commoner of nature; Of all forsaken, and forsaking all; Live in a shady forest's sylvan scene, Stretched at my length beneath some blasted oak, I lean my head upon the mossy bark, And look just of a piece as I grew from it ; My uncombed locks, matted like mistletoe, Hang o'er my hoary face; a murm'ring brook Runs at my foot.
Seite 11 - tis my birthday, and I'll keep it With double pomp of sadness. 'Tis what the day deserves, which gave me breath. Why was I raised the meteor of the world, Hung in the skies, and blazing as I travelled, Till all my fires were spent; and then cast downward, To be trod out by Caesar ? VENT, [aside]. On my soul, 'Tis mournful, wondrous mournful!
Seite 49 - That men's desiring eyes were never wearied, But hung upon the object : To soft flutes The silver oars kept time ; and while they played, The hearing gave new pleasure to the sight ; And both to thought.
Seite 99 - I will not make a business of a trifle; And yet I cannot look on you, and kill you; Pray turn your face.
Seite 20 - Fram'd in the very pride and boast of nature, So perfect, that the gods who form'd you wonder'd At their own skill, and cried, A lucky hit Has mended our design.