Bell's British Theatre, Volume 15

Front Cover
John Bell
J. Bell, 1797

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Page 111 - Pour down your blessings on this beauteous head, Where everlasting sweets are always springing, With a continual giving hand: let peace, Honour, and safety, always hover round her: Feed her with plenty, let her eyes ne'er see A sight of sorrow, nor her heart know mourning: Crown all her days with joy, her nights with rest, Harmless as her own thoughts; and prop her virtue, To bear the loss of one that too much lov'd, And comfort her with patience in our parting.
Page 76 - Last night, my love! JAFF. Name, name it not again. It shows a beastly image to my fancy Will wake me into madness. Oh, the villain! That durst approach such purity as thine On terms so vile! Destruction, swift destruction Fall on my coward head, and make my name The common scorn of fools if I forgive him!
Page 122 - Lead me into some place that's fit for mourning; Where the free air, light, and the cheerful sun May never enter. Hang it round with black; ;Set up one taper that may last a day — As long as I've to live; and there all leave me, Sparing no tears when you this tale relate, But bid all cruel fathers dread my fate.
Page 25 - The bitterness her tender spirit tastes of, I own myself a coward: bear my weakness, If throwing thus my arms about thy neck, I play the boy, and blubber in thy bosom. Oh! I shall drown thee with my sorrows! Pierr. Burn ! First burn, and level Venice to thy ruin. What! starve like beggars' brats in frosty weather, Under a hedge, and whine ourselves to death!
Page 47 - To you, Sirs, and your honours, I bequeath her, And with her this. When I prove unworthy — (gives a dagger) You know the rest — then strike it to her heart; And tell her, he who three whole happy years Lay in her arms, and each kind night repeated The passionate vows of still increasing love, Sent that reward for all her truth and sufferings.
Page 114 - Oh, there's all quiet, here all rage and fury: The air's too thin, and pierces my weak brain: I long for thick substantial sleep: hell, hell. Burst from the centre, rage and roar aloud, If thou art half so hot, so mad as I am.
Page 88 - I have not wrong'd thee, by these tears I have not. But still am honest, true, and hope too, valiant: My mind still full of thee, therefore still noble; Let not thy eyes then shun me, nor thy heart Detest me utterly; oh, look upon me, Look back and see my sad sincere submission ! How my heart swells, as even 'twould burst my bosom; Fond of its gaol, and labouring to be at thee ! What shall I do ? what say to make thee hear me ? Pierr.
Page 17 - You stole her from me ; like a thief you stole her, At dead of night ! that cursed hour you chose To rifle me of all my heart held dear.
Page 16 - I receiv'd you, Courted, and sought to raise you to your merits: My house, my table, nay, my fortune, too, My very self, was yours; you might have us'd me To your best service.
Page 24 - Priuli's cruel hand had sign'd it. Here stood a ruffian with a horrid face, Lording it o'er a pile of massy plate, Tumbled into a heap for public sale. There was another making villainous jests At thy undoing.

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