The Dramatic Works and Lyrics of Ben Jonson: Selected With an Essay, Biographical and CriticalWalter Scott, 1886 - 355 ページ |
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Æneid afore Ananias Bartholomew Fair bawd Ben Jonson Busy captain Catiline Centaure Cler Clerimont Corb Corv Cutbeard Dame Daup door doth drink Drug Drugger Enter EPICENE Essays Exeunt Exit Fair faith friends gentlemen give gold grace hast hath hear honour hope i'faith is't Jonson kiss La-F La-Foole lady Leath light LITTLEWIT look lord Love madam Mammon married master doctor master Truewit Mavis mistress Otter Morose Mosca never night noble noise on't poets pray profane Re-enter FACE RICHARD GARNETT RODEN NOEL SCENE Sejanus servant shew Silent Woman sir Amorous sir Dauphine sir John Daw sister speak SUBTLE Surly sweet tell thee There's thing Thou art Tom Otter troth True twas unto Volp Volpone WALTER SCOTT widow wife woman worship
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324 ページ - QUEEN and huntress, chaste and fair, Now the sun is laid to sleep, Seated in thy silver chair, State in wonted manner keep: Hesperus entreats thy light, Goddess excellently bright. Earth, let not thy envious shade Dare itself to interpose; Cynthia's shining orb was made Heaven to clear when day did close: Bless us then with wished sight, Goddess excellently bright. Lay thy bow of pearl apart And thy crystal-shining quiver; Give unto the flying hart Space to breathe, how short soever: Thou that mak'st...
337 ページ - Tis true, and all men's suffrage : but these ways Were not the paths I meant unto thy praise ; For seeliest ignorance on- these may light, Which, when it sounds at best, but echoes right ; Or blind affection, which doth ne'er advance The truth, but gropes, and urgeth all by chance ; Or crafty malice might pretend this praise, And think to ruin where it seem'd to raise : These are as some infamous bawd or whore Should praise a matron : — what could hurt her more ? But thou art proof against them...
130 ページ - No doubt ; he's that already. Mam. Nay, I mean, Restore his years, renew him like an eagle, To the fifth age ; make him get sons and daughters, Young giants, as our philosophers have done (The ancient patriarchs afore the flood) But taking, once a week, on a knife's point The quantity of a grain of mustard of it, Become stout Marses, and beget young Cupids.
270 ページ - And re-turn; make knots, and undo them; Give forked counsel; take provoking gold On either hand, and put it up; these men, He knew, would thrive with their humility. And for his part he thought he should be blest To have his heir of such a suffering spirit, So wise, so grave, of so perplex'da tongue, And loud withal, that would not wag, nor scarce Lie still, without a fee; when every word Your worship but lets fall, is a cecchine!
336 ページ - This Figure, that thou here seest put, It was for gentle Shakespeare cut...
119 ページ - But I do think now I shall leave the law, And therefore — FACE. Why, this changes quite the case. Do you think that I dare move him? DAP. If you please, sir; All's one to him, I see. FACE. What! for that money? I cannot with my conscience; nor should you Make the request, methinks. DAP. No, sir, I mean To add consideration. FACE. Why then, sir, I'll try— [GOES TO SUBTLE.] Say that it were for all games, doctor. SUB. I say then, not a mouth shall eat for him At any ordinary...
323 ページ - Slow, slow, fresh fount, keep time with my salt tears : Yet slower, yet ; O faintly, gentle springs : List to the heavy part the music bears, Woe weeps out her division, when she sings. Droop herbs and flowers, Fall grief in showers, Our beauties are not ours...
339 ページ - Muses' anvil ; turn the same (And himself with it) that he thinks to frame, Or, for the laurel, he may gain a scorn; For a good poet's made, as well as born. And such wert thou ! Look how the father's face Lives in his issue, even so the race Of Shakespeare's mind and manners brightly shines In his well turned, and true filed lines ; In each of which he seems to shake a lance, As brandished at the eyes of ignorance.
123 ページ - Doctor, do you hear! This is my friend, Abel, an honest fellow; He lets me have good tobacco, and he does not Sophisticate it with sack-lees or oil, Nor washes it in muscadel and grains, Nor buries it in gravel, under ground, Wrapp'd up in greasy leather...
325 ページ - I'll not look for wine. The thirst that from the soul doth rise Doth ask a drink divine; But might I of Jove's nectar sup, I would not change for thine. I sent thee late a rosy wreath, Not so much honouring thee As giving it a hope that there It could not withered be; But thou thereon didst only breathe And sent'st it back to me; Since when it grows, and smells, I swear, Not of itself but thee!