The Works of John Webster, Том 4

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W. Pickering, 1830

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Сторінка 78 - Tugs at his oar against the stubborn wave, Straining his rugged veins, snores fast; The stooping scythe-man, that doth barb the field, Thou makest wink sure.
Сторінка 14 - tis neither satire nor moral, but the mean passage of a history: yet there are a sort of discontented creatures that bear a stingless envy to great ones, and these will wrest the doings of any man to their base, malicious...
Сторінка 8 - I have myself, therefore, set forth this comedy ; but so, that my enforced absence must much rely upon the printer's discretion : but I shall entreat slight errors in orthography may be as slightly over-passed, and that the unhandsome shape which this trifle in reading presents, may be pardoned for the pleasure it once afforded you when it was presented with the soul of lively action.
Сторінка 73 - Bil. Thou art ever my politician. O, how happy is that old lord that hath a politician to his young lady ! I'll have fifty gentlemen shall attend upon me : marry, the most of them shall be farmers...
Сторінка 129 - And by my troth, beauties, why do you not put you into the fashion ? this is a stale cut, you must come in fashion : look ye, you must be all felt, felt and feather, a felt upon your bare hair * : look ye, these tiring things are justly out of request now : and, do ye hear ? you must wear falling...
Сторінка 166 - I'll not forsake thee; Runn'st thou ne'er so fast, I'll o'ertake thee : O'er the dales, o'er the downs, Through the green meadows, From the fields, through the towns, To the dim shadows.
Сторінка 58 - Rivels the skin, casts ashes in men's faces, Bedulls the eye, unstrengthens all the blood, Chance to remove me to another world, As sure I once must die, let him succeed.
Сторінка 67 - How fortune dotes on impudence ! I am in private the adopted son of yon good prince. I must be duke. Why, if I must, I must. Most silly lord, name me? O heaven! I see God made honest fools to maintain crafty knaves.
Сторінка 15 - Why not Malevole in folio with us, as Jeronimo in decimo-sexto with them? They taught us a name for our play: we call it One for another.
Сторінка 103 - Which we abhor; like deed, not doer. Then conclude, They live not to cry out 'ingratitude!' One stick burns t'other, steel cuts steel alone. 'Tis good trust few, but O, 'tis best trust none!

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