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Page 104 - From jigging veins of rhyming mother wits, And such conceits as clownage keeps in pay, We'll lead you to the stately tent of War, Where you shall hear the Scythian Tamburlaine Threat'ning the world with high astounding terms And scourging kingdoms with his conquering sword.
Page 151 - O, thou art fairer than the evening air Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars; Brighter art thou than flaming Jupiter When he appeared to hapless Semele: More lovely than the monarch of the sky In wanton Arethusa's azured arms : And none but thou shalt be my paramour!
Page 150 - Was this the face that launched a thousand ships, And burnt the topless towers of Ilium? — Sweet Helen, make me immortal with a kiss. — 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.
Page 102 - Fourthly, that he shall be in his chamber or house invisible. Lastly that he shall appear to the said John Faustus, at all times, in what form or shape soever he please.
Page 151 - And I will combat with weak Menelaus, And wear thy colours on my plumed crest : Yea, I will wound Achilles in the heel, And then return to Helen for a kiss. Oh ! thou art fairer than the evening air, Clad in the beauty of a thousand stars...
Page 118 - What might the staying of my blood portend? Is it unwilling I should write this bill? Why streams it not that I may write afresh? Faustus gives to thee his soul.
Page 120 - How am I glutted with conceit of this ! Shall I make spirits fetch me what I please, Resolve me of all ambiguities, Perform what desperate enterprise I will ? I'll have them fly to India for gold, Ransack the ocean for orient pearl, And search all corners of the new-found world For pleasant fruits and princely delicates; I'll have them read me strange philosophy And tell the secrets of all foreign kings...
Page 153 - Hell hath no limits, nor is circumscribed In one self place ; for where we are is hell, And where hell is there must we ever be...
Page 97 - I charge thee to return, and change thy shape; Thou art too ugly to attend on me: Go, and return an old Franciscan friar; That holy shape becomes a devil best.