A Select Collection of Old Plays: In Twelve Volumes ; with Additional Notes and Corrections, Bind 1Septimus Prowett, 1825 |
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Alazon Anaiskyntia Aorgus Aphobus Ascanio Aurelia Bacchus Bannswright Bellanima Bird blood Bomolochus Bright Browfildora call'd captain Castara Choler Cleantha Colar Colax Comedy conscience court Cypher dare death Decastro Deilus delight Dorcas doth Dyscolus ears earth Eiron Enter Exeunt Exit eyes father fear fellow fish Florentio Floriana Flowerdew fool Footman fortune friends Gabriel Harvey gentlemen give glass hast hath hear Heaven here's Holland honour hope Isle of Dogs Kataplectus King lady Lerma live look looking-glass lord madam majesty Malus Genius marry mistress Nash ne'er nephew never Newcut night Nimis Oniate Orgylus Ossuna pardon Parum Philotimia Phlegm Physander play pleasure Plotwell poet Pray Quartfield Queen Roscius Roseclap Salewit Sanmartino SCENE Seathrift Sensuality servant shew sing soldier soul speak Summer sure tell thee thing THOMAS NABBES thou art Timothy twas unto Velasco Vertumnus virtue vows Warehouse
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Side 67 - Beauty is but a flower, Which wrinkles will devour: Brightness falls from the air; Queens have died young and fair; Dust hath closed Helen's eye; I am sick, I must die. Lord have mercy on us!
Side 20 - SPRING, the sweet spring, is the year's pleasant king; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring, Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing: Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo...
Side 20 - The palm and may make country houses gay, Lambs frisk and play, the shepherds pipe all day, And we hear aye birds tune this merry lay: Cuckoo, jug-jug, pu-we, to-witta-woo!
Side 10 - Divines and dying men may talk of hell, But in my heart her several torments dwell.
Side 77 - Croydon's pleasure. Short days, sharp days, long nights come on apace, Ah! who shall hide us from the winter's face? Cold doth increase, the sickness will not cease, And here we lie, God knows, with little ease. From winter, plague, and pestilence, good Lord, deliver us! London doth mourn, Lambeth is quite forlorn. Trades cry, woe worth that ever they were born.
Side 54 - And think so still, so Stella know my mind; Profess indeed I do not Cupid's art; But you, fair maids, at length this true shall find, That his right badge is but worn in the heart. Dumb swans, not chattering pies, do lovers prove; They love indeed who quake to say they love.
Side 54 - And think so still ! so STELLA know my mind. Profess indeed I do not CUPID'S art: But you, fair maids ! at length, this true shall find, That his right badge is but worn in the heart. Dumb swans not chattering pies, do lovers prove. They love indeed who quake to say they love.
Side 20 - Spring, the sweet Spring, is the year's pleasant king ; Then blooms each thing, then maids dance in a ring : Cold doth not sting, the pretty birds do sing, Cuckoo...
Side 67 - ADIEU, farewell earth's bliss, This world uncertain is; Fond are life's lustful joys, Death proves them all but toys, None from his darts can fly. I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us! Rich men, trust not in wealth, Gold cannot buy you health; Physic himself must fade, All things to end are made. The plague full swift goes by. I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us! Beauty is but a flower Which wrinkles will devour; Brightness falls from the air, Queens...
Side 68 - Come, Come, the bells do cry. I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us! Wit with his wantonness Tasteth death's bitterness: Hell's executioner Hath no ears for to hear What vain art can reply: I am sick, I must die. Lord, have mercy on us!