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Adad Alderman Alex Antony arms blunderbuss Caesar cann't Carmelite Chargy Charles Charmion Cleo Cleopatra Clin Clincher colonel Cour Courci d'ye dare Darl dear death devil Dolabella Egad Enter Sir ev'n Exeunt Exit eyes faith father fool fortune Gardy gentleman give guineas hand hear heart Heav'n Hild Hildebrand honour Isab Isabinda Jubilee lady live look lord lov'd Lure Lurewell madam Marplot Miran Miranda mistress Mont murder never o'er pardon Patch poor Pr'ythee pray rogue Saint Valori SCENE servant shew Sir Fran Sir Francis Sir Geo Sir George Sir George Airy Sir Harry Sir Jeal Sir Jealous sirrah Smug soul speak Stand sure Tahes tell thee there's thing thou hast thro twas twill Vent Ventidius Vizard what's wife Wild Wildair woman word wou'd wretch
Page 16 - Lie there, thou shadow of an emperor; The place thou pressest on thy mother earth Is all thy empire now: now it contains thee; Some few days hence, and then 'twill be too large, When thou'rt contracted in thy narrow urn, Shrunk to a few cold ashes; then Octavia (For Cleopatra will not live to see it), Octavia then will have...
Page 56 - Dolabella, which way shall I turn? I find a secret yielding in my soul ; But Cleopatra, who would die with me, Must she be left? Pity pleads for Octavia; But does it not plead more for Cleopatra ? Vent.
Page 64 - Men are but children of a larger growth ; Our appetites as apt to change as theirs, And full as craving too, and full as vain ; And yet the soul, shut up in her dark room, Viewing so clear abroad, at home sees nothing; But, like a mole in earth, busy and blind, Works all her folly up, and casts it outward To the world's open view...
Page 105 - Caesar's pride? What! to be led in triumph through the streets, A spectacle to base plebeian eyes; While some dejected friend of Antony's, Close in a corner, shakes his head, and mutters A secret curse on her who ruin'd him?
Page 17 - I'm now turned wild, a commoner of nature; Of all forsaken, and forsaking all; Live in a shady forest's sylvan scene, Stretched at my length beneath some blasted oak, I lean my head upon the mossy bark, And look just of a piece as I grew from it ; My uncombed locks, matted like mistletoe, Hang o'er my hoary face; a murm'ring brook Runs at my foot.
Page 15 - tis my birthday, and I'll keep it With double pomp of sadness. 'Tis what the day deserves, which gave me breath. Why was I raised the meteor of the world, Hung in the skies, and blazing as I travelled, Till all my fires were spent; and then cast downward, To be trod out by Caesar ? VENT, [aside]. On my soul, 'Tis mournful, wondrous mournful!
Page 49 - That men's desiring eyes were never wearied, But hung upon the object : To soft flutes The silver oars kept time ; and while they played, The hearing gave new pleasure to the sight ; And both to thought.
Page 101 - I will not make a business of a trifle; And yet I cannot look on you, and kill you; Pray turn your face.