The Plays of William Shakespeare, Volume 2 |
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Page 11
... Marry , but you shall have ; and here's hand . Mar. Now , sir , thought is free : I pray you , bring your hand to the buttery - bar , and let it drink . Sir And . Wherefore , sweet heart ? what's your metaphor ? Mar. It's dry , sir ...
... Marry , but you shall have ; and here's hand . Mar. Now , sir , thought is free : I pray you , bring your hand to the buttery - bar , and let it drink . Sir And . Wherefore , sweet heart ? what's your metaphor ? Mar. It's dry , sir ...
Page 19
... thee to lie , since thou liest in favour of fools ! 1 a most weak pia mater . ] The pia mater is the membrane that immediately covers the substance of the brain . Oli . Ay , marry ; what is he ? WHAT YOU WILL . WAT 19.
... thee to lie , since thou liest in favour of fools ! 1 a most weak pia mater . ] The pia mater is the membrane that immediately covers the substance of the brain . Oli . Ay , marry ; what is he ? WHAT YOU WILL . WAT 19.
Page 20
William Shakespeare. Oli . Ay , marry ; what is he ? Sir To . Let him be the devil , an he will , I care not : give me faith , say I. Well , it's all one . [ Exit . Oli . What's a drunken man like , fool ? Clo . Like a drown'd man , a ...
William Shakespeare. Oli . Ay , marry ; what is he ? Sir To . Let him be the devil , an he will , I care not : give me faith , say I. Well , it's all one . [ Exit . Oli . What's a drunken man like , fool ? Clo . Like a drown'd man , a ...
Page 35
... Marry , sir , sometimes he is a kind of Pu- ritan . Sir And . O , if I thought that , I'd beat him like a dog . Sir To . What , for being a Puritan ? thy exqui- site reason , dear knight ? Sir And . I have no exquisite reason for't ...
... Marry , sir , sometimes he is a kind of Pu- ritan . Sir And . O , if I thought that , I'd beat him like a dog . Sir To . What , for being a Puritan ? thy exqui- site reason , dear knight ? Sir And . I have no exquisite reason for't ...
Page 45
... Marry , hang thee , brock ! ' Mal . I may command , where I adore : But silence , like a Lucrece knife , With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore ; M , O , A , I , doth sway my life . Fab . A fustian riddle ! Sir To . Excellent wench ...
... Marry , hang thee , brock ! ' Mal . I may command , where I adore : But silence , like a Lucrece knife , With bloodless stroke my heart doth gore ; M , O , A , I , doth sway my life . Fab . A fustian riddle ! Sir To . Excellent wench ...
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