Cumberland's British Theatre: With Remarks, Biographical and Critical, 第 16 卷
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arms better bring Broad character coat comes Count Crosses daughter dear devil don't door Dromio Duke Ellen Enter Exeunt Exit eyes face father feel fellow fortune Frank give hand happy head hear heart here's honour hope hour husband I'll Inkle Jessy keep King knock lady leave live look Lord madam married Mary master mean mind Miss Monsieur never night once play poor pray Rapid Reads SCENE servant Sir G speak stage stand sure tell Templeton thank thee thing thou thought Tonson Trudge true Vortex wife Wing wish Wows young Zounds
第7页 - Ye friends to truth, ye statesmen who survey The rich man's joys increase, the poor's decay, 'Tis yours to judge, how wide the limits stand Between a splendid and a happy land.
第8页 - Biron they call him ; but a merrier man, Within the limit of becoming mirth, I never spent an hour's talk withal : His eye begets occasion for his wit ; For every object that the one doth catch The other turns to a mirth-moving jest...
第10页 - Tis education forms the common mind ; Just as the twig is bent the tree's inclined.
第6页 - Though poor the peasant's hut, his feasts though small, He sees his little lot the lot of all ; Sees no contiguous palace rear its head, To shame the meanness of his humble shed...
第20页 - Retain that dear perfection which he owes Without that title. Romeo, doff thy name, And for thy. name, which is no part of thee, Take all myself.
第7页 - Is it not monstrous, that this player here, But in a fiction, in a dream of passion, Could force his soul so to his own conceit...
第3页 - Of all the griefs that harass the distress'd, Sure the most bitter is a scornful jest ; Fate never wounds more deep the gen'rous heart, Than when a blockhead's insult points the dart.
第5页 - Boastful and rough, your first son is a squire; The next a tradesman, meek, and much a liar; Tom struts a soldier, open, bold, and brave; Will sneaks a scrivener, an exceeding knave: Is he a Churchman?
第5页 - Canst thou not minister to a mind diseased, Pluck from the memory a rooted sorrow, Raze out the written troubles of the brain, And, with some sweet oblivious antidote, Cleanse the foul bosom of that perilous stuff, Which weighs upon the heart...
第5页 - The golden hair that Galla wears Is hers. Who would have thought it? She swears 'tis hers and true she swears, For I know where she bought it.