The Works of Sir George Etheredge: Plays and Poems

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J. C. Nimmo, 1888 - 408 pages
 

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Page 263 - I am always pleased with that particular time of the year which is proper for the pickling of dill and cucumbers; but, alas! this cry, like the song of the nightingale, is not heard above two months. It would therefore be worth while to consider, whether the same air might not in some cases be adapted to other words.
Page 180 - never a man in town lives more like a gentleman with his wife than I do; I never mind her motions ; she never inquires into mine. We speak to one another civilly, hate one another heartily ; and because it is vulgar to lie and soak together, we have each of us our several settlebed.
Page 265 - Something of man must be exposed to view, That, gallants, they may more resemble you. Sir Fopling is a fool so nicely writ, The ladies would mistake him for a wit ; And, when he sings, talks loud, and cocks, would cry, I vow, methinks, he's pretty company ! So brisk, so gay, so travell'd, so refined, As he took pains to graff upon his kind. True fops help nature's work, and go to school, To file and finish God Almighty's fool. Yet none Sir Fopling him, or him, can call ; He's knight o' the shire,...
Page 62 - LADIES, though to your conquering eyes Love owes his chiefest victories, And borrows those bright arms from you With which he does the world subdue, Yet you yourselves are not above The empire nor the griefs of love. Then rack not lovers with disdain, Lest Love on you revenge their pain: You are not free because you're fair: The Boy did not his Mother spare. Beauty's but an offensive dart: It is no armor for the heart.
Page 221 - ... on. Med. Your breech, though, is a handful too high in my eye, Sir Fopling. Sir Fop. Peace, Medley; I have wished it lower a thousand times, but a pox on 't, 'twill not be.
Page 266 - He's knight o' the shire, and represents ye all. From each he meets he culls whate'er he can ; Legion's his name, a people in a man. His bulky folly gathers as it goes, And, rolling o'er you, like a snowball grows. 20 His various modes from various fathers follow ; One taught the toss, and one the new French wallow : His swordknot this, his cravat that design'd ; And this, the yard-long snake he twirls behind.
Page 77 - From one playhouse to the other playhouse, and if they like neither the play nor the women, they seldom stay any longer than the combing of their periwigs, or a whisper or two with a friend — and then they cock their caps and out they strut again!
Page 213 - Your head a little more on one side, ease yourself on your left leg, and play with your right hand.
Page 251 - Ah, Phyllis ! if you would not love, This shepherd do not hear. None ever had so strange an art His passion to convey Into a listening virgin's heart, And steal her soul away. Fly, fly betimes, for fear you give Occasion for your fate. In vain, said she, in vain I strive, Alas!
Page 233 - To some easy women, but we are not all born to one destiny; I was informed you use to laugh at love, and not make it.

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