The New English Theatre: Containing the Most Valuable Plays which Have Been Acted on the London Stage, Том 11

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J. Rivington, T. Longman, T. Lowndes, T. Caslon, W. Nicholl, and S. Bladon, 1777 - 70 стор.
 

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Сторінка 54 - I have heard this distemper called a fever, but methinks 'tis liker an ague, for when I think of my husband I tremble and am in a cold sweat, and have inclinations to vomit, but when I think of my gallant, dear Mr. Horner, my hot fit comes and I am all in a fever, indeed...
Сторінка 46 - Horner such a letter But then my husband — but oh, what if I writ at bottom my husband made me write it? Ay, but then my husband would see't — Can one have no shift?
Сторінка 29 - Flippanta. Cor. But hark you, Flippanta, if you don't think he loves me dearly, don't give him my Letter, after all. Flip. Let me alone. Cor. When he has read it, let him give it you again.
Сторінка 18 - You must know, my booby of a brotherin-law hath brought up this ward of his (a good fortune let me tell you) as he coops up and fattens his chickens, for his own eating : he is plaguy jealous of her, and was very sorry that he could not marry her in the country, without coming up to town ; which he could not do, on account of some writings or other ; so what does my gentleman ? he persuades the poor silly girl, by breaking a sixpence, or some nonsense.
Сторінка 23 - Flip. Well - but what does he say to you? Cor. Not a Word of News, Flippanta; 'tis all about Business. Flip. Does he not tell you he's in Love with you? Cor. Ay, but he told me that before. Flip. How so ? He never spoke to you. Cor. He sent me word by his Eyes. Flip. Did he so? mighty well. I thought you had been to learn that Language.
Сторінка 66 - Hold ! — prithee, my dear, reduce things to a little temperance, and let us coolly into the secret of this disagreeable rupture. Gripe. Well then, without passion. Why, you must •know (but I'll have him hanged,) you must know that he came to Mr.
Сторінка 53 - Please you this afternoon, I will ride with you, For at the castle, six miles hence, we are sure To find him. John. I'll be ready. Petr. My man...
Сторінка 24 - Your servant, sir: no, I thank you. 'Gad, I go to a play as to a country treat; I carry my own wine to one, and my own wit to t'other, or else I'm sure I should not be merry at either. And the reason why we are so often louder than the players, is, because we think we speak more wit, and so become the poet's rivals in his audience...
Сторінка 53 - Fred. Come in, and dry your eyes. John. Pray no more weeping : Spoil a sweet face for nothing ! My return Shall...
Сторінка 25 - Corydon dies : Let all whining lovers go hang ; My heart would you hit, Tip your arrow with wit, And it comes to my heart with a twang, twang, And it comes to my heart with a twang.

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