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Altamont Arms bear Beauty becauſe behold better bleſs break Breaſt Califta Cares cou'd Crimes dear Death Earth Enter ev'n ev'ry Eyes Face fair fall falſe fatal Fate Father Fear fierce Fool forget Fortune Friend Friendſhip gentle give Goodneſs GRACE Hand happy hard Heart Heav'n hide hold Honour hope Horatio Hour Husband Juſtice keep kind laſt Lavinia Light live loft Looks looſe Lord Loth Lothario Love mark mean meet Mind Misfortunes mourn muſt Name Nature never Night noble once Peace Perhaps Pity Pleaſure poor Pow'r Rage reſt Ruin Sciolto ſee Servants ſhall Shame ſhe ſhould ſome Sorrow Soul ſtill ſuch ſwear Sword Tears tell thee theſe thoſe thou art thou haſt Thought turn Twas Vengeance Virtue weep Wife wiſh World worth wou'd Wretch wrong Youth
Strana 73 - That I must die, it is my only comfort ; Death is the privilege of human nature, And life without it were not worth our taking: " Thither the poor, the pris'ner, and the mourner, \\* " Fly for relief, and lay their burthens down.
Strana 30 - Some sullen influence, a foe to both, Has wrought this fatal marriage to undo us. Mark but the frame and temper of our minds, How very much we differ. Ev'n this day, That fills thee with such...
Strana 16 - Oh, great Sciolto! Oh, my more than father! Let me not live, but at thy very name, My eager heart springs up, and leaps with joy.
Strana 72 - Weep on your feet, and bless you for this goodness. .Oh ! 'tis too much for this offending wretch, This parricide, that murders with her crimes, Shortens her father's age, and cuts him off, Ere little more than half his years be number'd.
Strana 24 - It follows that his Justice dooms her dead, And breaks his Heart with Sorrow ; hard Return, For all the Good his Hand has heap'd on us : Hold, let me take a Moment's Thought. Enter Lavinia.
Strana 60 - It is enough ! but I am slow to Execute, And Justice lingers in my lazy Hand ; Thus let me wipe Dishonour from my Name, And cut thee from the Earth, thou Stain to Goodness.
Strana 69 - To tell me something; — for instruction then — He teaches holy sorrow and contrition, And penitence. — Is it become an art then? A trick that lazy, dull, luxurious gownmen Can teach us to do over? I'll no more on't; [Throwing away the Book.
Strana 62 - Stretch'd at my length, and dying in my cave, On that cold earth; I mean shall be my grave, Perhaps you may relent, and sighing say, At length her tears have...