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Bell's British Theatre, Consisting of the Most Esteemed English Plays
No preview available - 2013
Abel againſt Aram Arbella Arch Aſide aſk becauſe Belinda Bell beſt Brain buſineſs Caſh Cher confeſs Conft Conſ Conſº Conſtant cou’d couſin d'ye dear elſe Enter eſtate Exeunt Exit firſt fiſter Foig gentleman haſt Heart Heartfree Heartſ himſelf honeſt honour houſe huſband juſt juſtice kiſs Kite lady ladyſhip laſt lord loſe Lucy Madam Madem Mademoiſelle marry maſter miſtreſs moſt muſt myſelf Obadiah on’t perſon pleaſe pleaſure pr’ythee pray preſently Raſ raſcal reaſon Ruth ſaid ſame ſaw ſay Scrub ſecret ſee ſend ſent ſervant ſerve ſervice ſet Setter ſhall Sharp ſhe ſhew ſhould Silv Sir Joſeph ſoldier ſome ſomething ſon ſoon ſoul ſpeak ſtand ſtay ſtill ſtrange ſuch ſure ſwear ſweet Teague tell thee there's theſe thing thoſe thou thouſand uſe wife wiſh woman wou'd yourſelf
Page 64 - ... till he be angry. To keep his valour in obscurity, is to keep himself as it were in a cloak-bag. What's a musician, unless he play ? What's a tall man unless he fight?
Page 37 - I lend no credit to that is fabled of 'em: I know the virtue of mine own, and therefore I dare the boldlier maintain it.
Page 38 - Oh, it's a most precious fool, make much on him: I can compare him to nothing more happily than a drum; for every one may play upon him.
Page 78 - Sul. Your prating is worse. Mrs. Sul. Have we not been a perpetual offence to each other? a gnawing vulture at the heart?
Page 7 - But some comfort still; if one would be revenged of him, these are good times; a woman may have a gallant, and a separate maintenance too— the surly puppy— yet he's a fool for't: For hitherto he has been no monster, but who knows how far he may provoke me? I never...
Page 17 - I own it, we are united contradictions, fire and water : but I could be contented, with a great...
Page 19 - Mother was useless at five and twenty ; not wheedle ! would you make your Mother a Whore and me a Cuckold, as the saying is? I tell you his Silence confesses it, and his Master spends...
Page 15 - ... he comes flounce into bed, dead as a salmon into a fishmonger's basket ; his feet cold as ice, his breath hot as a furnace, and his hands and his face as greasy as his flannel nightcap.