Master Skylark: Or, Will Shakespeare's Ward ; a Dramatization from the Story of the Same Name by John Bennett in Five ActsCentury Company, 1916 - Всего страниц: 177 |
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Master Skylark; Or, Will Shakespeare's Ward: A Dramatization from the Story ... Edgar White Burrill Просмотр фрагмента - 1940 |
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Admiral's Admiral's men art thou BAILIFF Ben Jonson burgesses BUTLER cake canna canst Cicely Carew Clapping COLLEY comes cottage Coventry crowd curtain Daddy dance didst door doth Enter Exeunt Exit eyes fair play fellow fetch Gaston Carew gittern GUARD hand hark hath head heard HEYWOOD HODGE Hurrah John Shakespeare JONSON kiss LANDLORD lane lark lass Laughing London look Lord High Lord High Admiral love thee LUCY MARGARET ATTWOOD Master Carew Master Gyles Master Skylark master-player naught Nicholas Attwood NICK NICK's night PLAYER poniard Pouf precentor Queen rogue rose-trees saith shilling shoulder SIMON ATTWOOD sing slowly smile softly song soul stage stares stolen stools Stratford town sweet Tantara tell thee There's thine Thomas Lucy thou art thou hast thou lt thou wilt thy father Tom Webster Tyburn voice window Wouldst
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Стр. 140 - 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 honoring 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.
Стр. 140 - Drink to me only with thine eyes, And I will pledge with mine; Or leave a kiss but in the cup And 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.
Стр. 96 - Hark, hark! the lark at heaven's gate sings, And Phoebus 'gins arise, His steeds to water at those springs On chaliced flowers that lies; And winking Mary-buds begin To ope their golden eyes: With every thing that pretty is, My lady sweet, arise: Arise, arise.
Стр. 56 - Pack, clouds, away! and welcome, day! With night we banish sorrow. Sweet air, blow soft; mount, lark, aloft To give my love good-morrow. Wings from the wind, to please her mind, Notes from the lark, I'll borrow; Bird, prune thy wing; nightingale, sing, To give my love good-morrow.
Стр. 58 - Sing, birds, in every furrow ; And from each hill, let music shrill Give my fair Love good-morrow ! Blackbird and thrush in every bush, Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow ! You pretty elves, amongst yourselves Sing my fair Love good-morrow ; To give my Love good-morrow Sing, birds, in every furrow ! T.
Стр. 11 - Hey, trolilo, trololilo ! The hunt is up, the hunt is up, Sing merrily we the hunt is up.
Стр. 56 - I'll borrow. Wake from thy nest, Robin red-breast, Sing, birds, in every furrow; And from each hill, let music shrill Give my fair love good-morrow! Blackbird and thrush in every bush, Stare, linnet and cock-sparrow! You pretty elves...
Стр. 111 - Or ever shall hear again," said the Venetian ambassador under his breath, rubbing his forehead as if just wakening out of a dream. " Come," said Elizabeth, tapping Colley's cheek with her fan, " what wilt thou have of me, fair maid ? " Colley turned red, then very pale. "That I may stay in the palace forever and sing for your Majesty," said he. His fingers shivered in Nick's. " Now that is right prettily asked," she cried, and was well pleased.
Стр. 57 - I'll borrow. Wake from thy nest, Robin-redbreast, Sing birds in every furrow; And from each bill, let music shrill Give my fair Love good-morrow ! Blackbird and thrush in every bush, Stare, linnet, and cock-sparrow, You pretty elves, amongst yourselves Sing my fair Love good-morrow ! To give my Love good-morrow Sing birds in every furrow ! THOMAS HEYWOOD.
Стр. 145 - t is a pity if we cannot all stand together in this real play as well as in all the make-believe." " That 's my sort ! " cried Master Hemynge. " Why, what ? Here is a player's daughter who has no father, and a player whose father will not have him, — orphaned by fate, and disinherited by folly, — common stock with us all ! Marry, 't is a sort of stock I want some of.