PoetryVicesimus Knox S. Walker, 1825 - Literature |
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Page 334
... play makes war , and prologue is the drum . Arm'd with keen satire , and with pointed wit , We threaten you , who do for judges sit , To save our plays ; or else we'll damn your pit . But , for your comfort , it falls out to - day , We ...
... play makes war , and prologue is the drum . Arm'd with keen satire , and with pointed wit , We threaten you , who do for judges sit , To save our plays ; or else we'll damn your pit . But , for your comfort , it falls out to - day , We ...
Page 337
... play . §16 . Prologue to the Man's Bewitch'd . 1710 . And tell you wondrous things that will prove And jilts set up - for twenty - thousand - pound- 1 § 17. Epilogue to the same . Spoken by Mrs. In the first act , brisk sallies , ( miss ...
... play . §16 . Prologue to the Man's Bewitch'd . 1710 . And tell you wondrous things that will prove And jilts set up - for twenty - thousand - pound- 1 § 17. Epilogue to the same . Spoken by Mrs. In the first act , brisk sallies , ( miss ...
Page 360
... plays . Old bachelors , who marry smart young wives , Learn from our play to regulate your lives ; Each bring his dear to town -- all faults upon her- London will prove the very source of honor ; Plung'd fairly in , like a cold bath ...
... plays . Old bachelors , who marry smart young wives , Learn from our play to regulate your lives ; Each bring his dear to town -- all faults upon her- London will prove the very source of honor ; Plung'd fairly in , like a cold bath ...
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Ajax arms art thou bear beauty behold blood breast breath bright Brutus Cæsar call'd Cassius cheek Comus Cymbeline dead dear death Decius didst dost doth dread dream earth ev'ry eyes fair father fear fire flow'rs gentle give gods gold grace grief Hadad hand hast hath head hear heard heart heaven hell honor hour Iago king Lady light live look lord lov'd lyre Macb Macbeth Macd Marcian mind moon Muse nature ne'er never night noble nymph o'er Othello Pandarus peace pity poor pow'r pride prince Rome round seem'd SHAKSPEARE sight sleep smile soft Sonnet sorrow soul speak spide spirit stamp'd sweet sword tears tell thee thine things thou art thou hast thought thyself tongue twas Tybalt unto Vent vex'd virtue voice weep wind wretched youth