The Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker: The virgin martir, by Philip Messenger and Thomas Deker. 1622. Brittania's honor. 1628. Londons tempe. Match mee in London. 1631. The wonder of a kingdome. 1636. The Sun's-darling, by John Foard and Tho. Decker. 1656. The witch of Edmonton, by William Rowley, Thomas Dekker, John Ford, & c. 1658J. Pearson, 1873 |
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The virgin martir, by Philip Messenger and Thomas Deker. 1622. Brittannia's ... Thomas Dekker Úplné zobrazenie - 1873 |
The Dramatic Works of Thomas Dekker: The virgin martir, by Philip Messenger ... Thomas Dekker Úplné zobrazenie - 1873 |
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againſt Angelo Artemia baſe becauſe beſt caft cauſe Chriſtian Clarington Clow Court dare Devil elſe Enter Exeunt Exit eyes Father felfe fhall firſt flave fome foul Frank ftand ftill ftrike fuch fure fweet Gazetto Gent giue hand hath haue heart heaven heere himſelf honour houſe I'le i'th Iago is't King Lady laſt Lord Lordſhip loue Macrinus Maſter moſt Mufick muſt neuer Nico pleaſe pleaſure pray preſent Prince Queene Sapritius Sawy ſay ſee ſelf ſhall ſhe ſhould Sir Art ſome Somerton ſpeak Spun ſtand ſtay ſtill ſuch Sunne ſweet thee Theoph there's theſe thine Thomas Dekker Thor Thorney thoſe thou art thouſand Tormiella uſe vpon Warb whoſe wife Witch Witch of Edmonton woman worſe
Populárne pasáže
Strana 433 - It was played by six people, three of each sex, who were coupled by lot. A piece of ground was then chosen, and divided into three compartments, of which the middle one was called Hell. It was the object of the couple condemned to this division, to catch the others who advanced from the two extremities ; in which case a change of situation took place, and Hell was filled by the couple, who were excluded by preoccupation from the other places. In this catching...
Strana 321 - Tis a sport to content a king. So, ho ! ho ! through the skies How the proud bird flies, And sousing kills with a grace. Now the deer falls ; hark ! how they ring.
Strana 320 - Tis holiday! The sun does bravely shine On our ears of corn. Rich as a pearl Comes every girl — This is mine, this is mine, this is mine! Let us die ere away they be borne. Bow to the sun, to our Queen, and that fair one Come to behold our sports: Each bonny lass here is counted a rare one, As those in princes
Strana 369 - Saw. Bless me! the devil! Dog. Come, do not fear; I love thee much too well To hurt or fright thee; if I seem terrible, It is to such as hate me. I have found Thy love unfeign'd; have...
Strana 355 - Dear, dear Win, I hug this art of thine ; it shows how cleanly Thou canst beguile, in case occasion serve To practise ; it becomes thee : now we share Free scope enough...
Strana 437 - Northumberland,* there was, in a freize near the top, in large capitals, C. jE., an enigma long inexplicable to antiquaries. Vertue found that at the period when the house was built lived Chrismas, an architect and carver of reputation, who gave the design of Aldersgate, and cut the bas-relief on it of James the First on horseback, and thence concluded that those letters signified Chrismas adificavit.
Strana 365 - By some more strong in mischiefs than myself, Must I for that be made a common sink, For all the filth and rubbish of men's tongues To fall and run into ? Some call me Witch, And being ignorant of myself, they go About to teach me how to be one; urging, That my bad tongue (by their bad usage made so) Forespeaks their cattle,* doth bewitch their corn, Themselves, their servants, and their babes at nurse. This they enforce upon me ; and in part Make me to credit it...
Strana 383 - Dock, I was almost at Gravesend. I'll never go to a wench in the dog-days again; yet 'tis cool enough. — Had you never a paw in this dog-trick? a mange take that black hide of yours ! I'll throw you in at Limehouse in some tanner's pit or other.
Strana 392 - Of my unwitting sin : and then I come A crystal virgin to thee. My soul's purity Shall, with bold wings, ascend the doors of mercy ; For innocence is ever her companion. Frank. Not yet mortal ? I would not linger you, Or leave you a tongue to blab.
Strana 342 - I appear forlorn, I serve for no use : 'tis my sharper breath Does purge gross exhalations from the earth ; My frosts and snows do purify the air From choking fogs, make the sky clear and fair : And though by nature cold and chill I be, Yet I am warm in bounteous charity ; And can, my lord, by grave and sage advice, Bring you to the happy shades of paradise.