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The British Theatre Volume 8; Or, a Collection of Plays, Which Are Acted at the Theatres Royal, Drury Lane, Convent Gardin, Haymarket, and Lyceum ebook

The British Theatre Volume 8; Or, a Collection of Plays, Which Are Acted at the Theatres Royal, Drury Lane, Convent Gardin, Haymarket, and Lyceum ebook

The British Theatre Volume 8; Or, a Collection of Plays, Which Are Acted at the Theatres Royal, Drury Lane, Convent Gardin, Haymarket, and Lyceum. Mrs Inchbald

The British Theatre Volume 8; Or, a Collection of Plays, Which Are Acted at the Theatres Royal, Drury Lane, Convent Gardin, Haymarket, and Lyceum
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Author: Mrs Inchbald
Number of Pages: 94 pages
Published Date: 06 Mar 2012
Publisher: Rarebooksclub.com
Publication Country: Miami Fl, United States
Language: English
ISBN: 9781130478181
Download Link: The British Theatre Volume 8; Or, a Collection of Plays, Which Are Acted at the Theatres Royal, Drury Lane, Convent Gardin, Haymarket, and Lyceum
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This historic book may have numerous typos and missing text. Purchasers can download a free scanned copy of the original book (without typos) from the publisher. Not indexed. Not illustrated. 1824 Excerpt: ...to-day: In sooth, I would you were a little sick: That I might sit all night, and watch with you: I warrant, 1 love you more than you do me. Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom.--Read here, young Arthur.--Gives him a Warrant. How now, foolish rheum!--1 must be brief, lest resolution drop Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears.--Can you not read it? is it not fair writ? Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect: Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes? Hub. Young boy, I must. Art/i. And will you? k Hub. And I will. Arth. Have you the heart? When your head did but ache, I knit my handkerchief about your brows, ( The best I had, a princess wrought it me, ) And I did never ask it you again: And with my hand at midnight held your head; And, like the watchful minutes to the hour, Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time, Saying, What lack you? and, Where lies your grief? Or, What good love may I perform for you? Many a poor man's son would have lain still, And ne'er have spoke a loving word to you; But you at your sick service had a prince. Kay, you may think my love was crafty love, And call it cunning: Do, and if you will: If Heaven be pleased that you must use me ill, "Why then you must.--Will you put -ut mine eyes? These eyes, that never did, nor never shall, So much as frown on you? Hub. I have sworn to do it; And with hot irons must I burn them out. Arth. And if an angel should have come to me, And told me Hubert should put out mine eyes, I would not have believed him: no tongue, but Hu-bert's. Hub. Come forth.--hubert stamps, and the Executioners enter with the Irons and Cords. Do as I bid you. Arth. O, save me, Hubert, save me! my eyes are out, Even with the fierce looks of these bloody men. Hub. Give me the iron, I say, ...

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