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Abig Abigail Æneas arms Barabas bear Bell blood bring brother comes command crown dead death Dido doth Dyce Earl Edward England Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair farewell father fear fire follow France friar friends Gaveston give gold gone Governor grace Guise hand hast hate hath head hear heart heaven hence Henry highness honour hope hundred I'll Iarbas Italy Itha Ithamore keep Kent king Lancaster leave letter Light live look lord madam Malta mean mind Mortimer mother murder Navarre never night noble Old ed Pilia poor presently prince Queen rest revenge SCENE ships soldiers soul speak Spencer stand stay sweet sword tell thee thou thoughts town traitor turn unto villain young
Strana 233 - And, seeing there was no place to mount up higher, Why should I grieve at my declining fall? — Farewell, fair queen; weep not for MOrtimer, That scorns the world, and, as a traveller, Goes to discover countries yet unknown.
Strana 122 - I'll have Italian masks by night, Sweet speeches, comedies, and pleasing shows; And in the day, when he shall walk abroad, Like sylvan nymphs my pages shall be clad ; My men, like satyrs grazing on the lawns, Shall with their goat-feet dance...
Strana 117 - The troublesome Raigne and lamentable Death of Edward the Second, King of England: with the tragicall fall of proud Mortimer.
Strana 206 - But not of kings. The forest deer, being struck, Runs to an herb that closeth up the wounds ; But, when the imperial lion's flesh is gored, He rends and tears it with his wrathful paw, And highly scorning that the lowly earth Should drink his blood, mounts up into the air.
Strana 208 - My head, the latest honour due to it, And jointly both yield up their wished right. Continue ever thou celestial sun; Let never silent night possess this clime: Stand still you watches...
Strana 35 - Thus, like the sad presaging raven, that tolls The sick man's passport in her hollow beak, And in the shadow of the silent night Doth shake contagion from her sable wings, Vex'd and tormented runs poor Barabas With fatal curses towards these Christians.
Strana 227 - Tell Isabel, the queen, I looked not thus, When for her sake I ran at tilt in France, And there unhorsed the Duke of Cleremont.
Strana 121 - I must have wanton poets, pleasant wits, Musicians, that with touching of a string May draw the pliant king which way I please; Music and poetry is his delight; Therefore I'll have Italian masks by night, Sweet speeches, comedies, and pleasing shows...