The British Theatre; Or, A Collection of Plays: Which are Acted at the Theatres Royal, Drury Lane, Covent Garden, and Haymarket ...

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Longman, Hurst, Rees, and Orme, 1808

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Сторінка 45 - Would that these eyes had Heaven's own lightning, that, with a look, thus I might blast thee ! Am I then fallen so low? Has poverty so humbled me, that I should listen to a hellish offer, and sell my soul for bread?
Сторінка 39 - tis a right usurped by losers, to think the winners knaves — We'll have more manhood in us. Bev. I know not what to think This night has stung me to the quick — Blasted my reputation too — I have bound my honour to these vipers ; played meanly upon credit, till I tired them ; and now they shun me, to rifle one another. What's to be done ? Stuke. Nothing. My counsels have been fatal. Bev. By...
Сторінка 60 - All shall be well — I have news for him, that will make his poor heart bound again — Fie upon old age ! — How childish it makes me ! — I have a tale of joy for you, and my tears drown it.
Сторінка 23 - Eger. And he, who makes any other— let him be of the North, or of the South — of the East, or of the West — in place, or out of place, is an enemy to the whole, and to the virtues of humanity.
Сторінка 65 - I have left him, you will not leave him — To Lew-son's kindness I bequeath him. — Is not this Charlotte? — We have lived in love, though I have wronged you — Can you forgive me, Charlotte ? Char.
Сторінка 28 - Rejects all nourishment, or turns to gall The very balm that should relieve its anguish. He will admire thy love, which could persuade him To give up glory for the milder triumph Of heart-felt ease and soft humanity. Horatia. I fain would hope so. Yet we hear not of him. Your brother, much I fear, has sued in vain.
Сторінка 19 - I am a dependent on my lady — a poor, forsaken, helpless orphan. Your benevolent mother found me, took me to her bosom, and there supplied my parental loss with every tender care, indulgent dalliance, and with all the sweet persuasion that maternal fondness, religious precept, polished manners, and hourly example, could administer. She fostered me; [ Weeps ;] and shall I now turn viper, and with black ingratitude sting the tender heart that thus has cherished me'?
Сторінка 41 - twas made for you. Very good coffee, indeed, Mr. Tomlins. Sons of care, 'twas made for you.
Сторінка 20 - I have no heart to see this change. Bev. Nor I to bear it. How speaks the world of me. Jarvis ? Jar. As of a good man dead. Of one who, walking in a dream, fell down a precipice. The world is sorry for you.
Сторінка 18 - Why, what a World is this! The Slave that digs for Gold, receives his daily Pittance, and sleeps contented ; while those, for whom he labours, convert their Good to Mischief; making Abundance the Means of Want.

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