The Works of John Marston: The Dutch courtezan. The fawn. The wonder of women, or, The tragedy of Sophonisba. What you will

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J.C. Nimmo, 1887
 

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Page 363 - I was a scholar : seven useful springs Did I deflower in quotations Of cross'd opinions 'bout the soul of man ; The more I learnt, the more I learnt to doubt. Delight...
Page 352 - Phantasia incomplexa, is a function, Even of the bright immortal part of man. It is the common pass, the sacred door, Unto the privy chamber of the soul, That barr'd, nought passeth past the baser court Of outward sense; by it th...
Page 144 - Harry, I do not only marvel where thou spendest thy time, but also how thou art accompanied : for though the camomile, the more it is trodden on, the faster it grows, yet youth, the more it is wasted, the sooner it wears.
Page 322 - Scoff's artillery. • Shall he be crest-fall'n, if some looser brain, In flux of wit uncivilly befilth His slight composures? Shall his bosom faint, If drunken Censure belch out sour breath From Hatred's surfeit on his labour's front? Nay, say some half a dozen rancorous breasts Should plant themselves on purpose to discharge Imposthum'd malice on his latest scene, Shall his resolve be struck through with the blirt Of a goose-breath?
Page 100 - I, to comfort him, bid him a' should not think of God, I hoped there was no need to trouble himself with any such thoughts yet. So a' bade me lay more clothes on his feet: I put my hand into the bed and felt them, and they were as cold as any stone; then I felt to his knees, and so upward, and upward, and all was as cold as any stone.
Page 110 - For mine own interest for once, let this be printed, — that of men of my own addiction I love most, pity some, hate none ; for let me truly say it, I once only loved myself, for loving them, and surely I shall ever rest so constant to my first affection, that let their ungentle combinings, discourteous whisperings, never so treacherously labour to undermine my unfenced reputation, I shall (as long as I have being) love the least of their graces, and only pity the greatest of their vices.
Page 373 - That all the woods them answer, and their echo ring! Now ceasse, ye damsels, your delights forepast; Enough is it that all the day was youres: Now day is doen, and night is nighing fast: Now bring the bryde into the brydall boures.
Page 134 - And most are grown to ill, even with defence I vow to waste this most prodigious heat, That falls into my age like scorching flames In depth of numb'd December, in flattering all In all of their extremest viciousness, Till in their own lov'd race they fall most lame, And meet full butt the close of Vice's shame.
Page 324 - Think you that if his scenes took stamp in mint Of three or four deem'd most judicious, It must enforce the world to current them, That you must spit defiance on dislike'? Now, as I love the light, were I to pass Through public verdict, I should fear my form, Lest ought I offer'd were unsquared or warp'd. The more we know, the more we want: What Bayard bolder than the ignorant? Believe me, Philomuse, i' faith thou must, The best, best seal of wit, is wit's distrust.
Page 46 - tis one of the most unpleasing injurious customs to ladies. Any fellow that has but one nose on his face, and standing collar and skirts also...

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