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 100 - 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 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 - 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 ? What imperfect-born, What short-liv'd meteor, what cold-hearted snow Would melt in dolour, cloud...
Page 197 - I could be content that we might procreate like trees, without conjunction, or that there were any way to perpetuate the World without this trivial and vulgar way of union...
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. The night is come, now soone her disaray, And in her bed her lay; Lay her in lillies and in violets, And silken courteins over her display, And odourd sheetes, and Arras coverlets.
Page 113 - Comedies are writ to be spoken, not read ; remember the life of these things consists in action...
Page 46 - tis grown one of the most unsavoury ceremonies : body o' beauty ! '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...
Page 50 - twas for something Mistress Joyce jested at thy high insteps.

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