Cymbeline, King of Britain: A Play in Five Acts

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Samuel French, 1864 - 86 pages

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Page 69 - I'd let a parish of such Clotens blood, And praise myself for charity. [Exit. Bel. O thou goddess, Thou divine Nature, how thyself thou blazon'st In these two princely boys! They are as gentle As zephyrs, blowing below the violet, Not wagging his sweet head: and yet as rough, Their royal blood enchafd, as the rud'st wind, That by the top doth take the mountain pine, And make him stoop to the vale.
Page 71 - Fear no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages ; Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages : Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Arv. Fear no more the frown o...
Page 54 - tis Slander, Whose edge is sharper than the Sword, whose tongue Out-venoms all the Worms of Nile, whose breath Hides on the posting winds, and doth belie All corners of the World. Kings, Queens, and States, Maids, Matrons, nay the Secrets of the Grave This viperous slander enters.
Page 85 - Laud we the gods/ And let our crooked smokes climb to their nostrils From our blest altars. Publish we this peace To all our subjects. Set we forward: let A Roman and a British ensign wave Friendly together: so through Lud's town march: And in the temple of great Jupiter Our peace we'll ratify/ seal it with feasts.
Page 71 - FEAR no more the heat o' the sun, Nor the furious winter's rages: Thou thy worldly task hast done, Home art gone, and ta'en thy wages: Golden lads and girls all must, As chimney-sweepers, come to dust. Fear no more the frown o' the great : Thou art past the tyrant's stroke. Care no more to clothe and eat; To thee the reed is as the oak: The sceptre, learning, physic, must All follow this, and come to dust. Fear no more the lightning-flash...
Page 37 - Hark ! hark ! the lark at heaven's gate sings. And Phoebus 'gins arise. His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies ; And winking Mary-buds begin to ope their golden eyes ; With everything that pretty is — My lady sweet, arise : Arise, arise.
Page 70 - With fairest flowers Whilst summer lasts and I live here, Fidele, I'll sweeten thy sad grave: thou shalt not lack The flower that's like thy face, pale primrose, nor The azured harebell, like thy veins, no, nor The leaf of eglantine, whom not to slander, Out-sweeten'd not thy breath...
Page 54 - tis slander, Whose edge is sharper than the sword ; whose tongue Outvenoms all the worms of Nile ; whose breath Rides on the posting winds, and doth belie All corners of the world : kings, queens, and states, Maids, matrons, nay, the secrets of the grave This viperous slander enters.
Page 19 - I would have broke mine eye-strings, crack'd them, but To look upon him, till the diminution Of space had pointed him sharp as my needle...

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