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Acas arms bear Beau Beaugard Belvidera better bless brother Caius Mar Castalio cause Cham comes Cour Dare dead dear death Enter Exit eyes face fair fall false fate Father fear fool fortune give Gods gone grow guard hand happy hast head hear heart Heaven hold honest honour hope hour I'll keep kind lady leave live look lord lost madam Marius means meet mind Monimia nature ne'er never night Nurse once peace Pierre pity poor rest rogue Rome senate slave soul speak stand sure sword Sylla tears tell thee Theo there's thing thou thou art thought Till trust truth villain virtue wife wilt wish woman wretch wrong young
Страница 320 - Ohy woman! lovely woman! nature made thee .To temper man : we had been brutes without you. Angels are painted fair, to look like you : There's in you all that we believe of Heaven, Amazing brightness, purity, and truth, Eternal joy, and everlasting love.
Страница 295 - Death, that hath suck'd the honey of thy breath, Hath had no power yet upon thy beauty : Thou art not conquer'd ; beauty's ensign yet Is crimson in thy lips and in thy cheeks, And death's pale flag is not advanced there.
Страница 240 - My bounty is as boundless as the sea, My love as deep; the more I give to thee, The more I have, for both are infinite.
Страница 240 - I'll believe thee. Rom. If my heart's dear love Jul. Well, do not swear: although I joy in thee, I have no joy of this contract to-night : It is too rash, too unadvised, too sudden ; Too like the lightning, which doth cease to be, Ere one can say — It lightens.
Страница 238 - Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name; And for that name, which is no part of thee, Take all myself.
Страница 264 - It was the lark, the herald of the morn, No nightingale : look, love, what envious streaks Do lace the severing clouds in yonder east: Night's candles are burnt out...
Страница 318 - The bitterness her tender spirit tastes of, I own myself a coward: bear my weakness, If throwing thus my arms about thy neck, I play the boy, and blubber in thy bosom. Oh! I shall drown thee with my sorrows! Pierr. Burn ! First burn, and level Venice to thy ruin. What! starve like beggars' brats in frosty weather, Under a hedge, and whine ourselves to death!
Страница 279 - Farewell! God knows when we shall meet again. I have a faint cold fear thrills through my veins, That almost freezes up the heat of life: I'll call them back again to comfort me.
Страница 323 - That's my wish too: For then, my Pierre, I might have cause with pleasure To play the hypocrite. Oh! how I could weep Over the dying dotard, and kiss him too, In hopes to smother him quite; then, when the time Was come to pay my sorrows at his funeral, For he has already made me heir to treasures, Would make me out-act a real...