Women beware women

Rodwell and Martin, 1816
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Página 41 - Troth, even at home, madam : To tell you truth, I left a gentlewoman Even sitting all alone, which is uncomfortable, Especially to young bloods. Liv. Another excuse ! Moth.
Página 48 - ... great lord, Make me not bold with death and deeds of ruin, Because they fear not you ; me they must fright ; Then am I best in health : should thunder speak, And none regard it, it had lost the name, And were as good be still. I'm not like those That take their soundest sleeps in greatest tempests ; Then wake I most, the weather fearfullest, And call for strength to virtue.
Página 59 - I would not stand thus, And gaze upon you always ; troth, I could not, sir ; As good be blind, and have no use of sight, As look on one thing still : what's the eye's treasure, But change of objects ? You are learned, sir, And know I speak not ill ; 'tis full as virtuous For woman's eye to look on several men, As for her heart, sir, to be fixed on one. Lean. Now thou come'st home to me ; a kiss for that word.
Página 52 - Moth. You have not seen all since, sure ? Bian. That have I, mother, The monument and all : I'm so beholding To this kind, honest, courteous gentleman, You'd little think it, mother ; ' show'd me all, Had me from place to place so fashionably ; The kindness of some people, how 't exceeds ! Faith, I've seen that I little thought to see "1 II the morning when I rose.
Página 23 - So populous in women, and creation So prodigal in beauty, and so various, Yet does love turn thy point to thine own blood ? 'Tis somewhat too unkindly : must thy eye Dwell evilly on the fairness of thy kindred, And seek not where it should? it is...
Página 45 - Liv. You play well the whilst : How she belies her skill ! I hold two ducats, I give you check and mate to your white king, Simplicity itself, your saintish king there.
Página 57 - The treasures of the deep are not so precious As are the conceal'd comforts of a man Lock'd up in woman's love. I scent the air Of blessings, when I come but near the house. What a delicious breath marriage sends forth . . . The violet bed's not sweeter.
Página 99 - When you're at strongest, and but poor thin clay : Think upon't, brother ; can you come so near it For a fair strumpet's love, and fall into A torment that knows neither end nor bottom For beauty but the deepness of a skin, And that not of their own neither ? Is she a thing Whom sickness dare not visit, or age look on, Or death resist ? does the worm shun her grave ? If not, as your soul knows it, why should lust Bring man to lasting pain for rotten dust ? Duke.
Página 80 - Methinks by right I should not now be living, And then 'twere all well. What a happiness Had I been made of had I never seen her; For nothing makes man's loss grievous to him; But knowledge of the worth of what he loses ; For what he never had, he never misses : She's gone for ever, utterly ; there is As much redemption of a soul from hell, As a fair woman's body from his palace.
Página 20 - Be even as well expressed in a good look, But it must see her face still in a fountain ? It shows like a country maid dressing her head By a dish of water: come, 'tis an old custom To weep for love.

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