A Collection of Old English Plays, Volume 1 by Various
page 69 of 450 (15%)
page 69 of 450 (15%)
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_Man_. O Father, speake yet; no, the mercilesse blowe
Hath all bereft speech, motion, sense and life. _Wom_. O beauteous innocence, whitenes ill blackt, How to be made a coale didst thou deserve? _Man_. O reverend wrinckles, well becoming palenesse, Why hath death now lifes colours given thee And mockes thee with the beauties of fresh youth? _Wom_. Why wert thou given me to be tane away So soone, or could not Heaven tell how to punish But first by blessing mee? _Man_. Why where thy years Lengthened so long to be cut off untimely? _Nero_. Play on, play on, and fill the golden skies With cryes and pitie, with your blood; Mens Eyes[57]-- _Wom_. Where are thy flattering smiles, thy pretty kisses, And armes that wont to writhe about my necke? _Man_. Where are thy counsels? where thy good example, And that kind roughnes of a Father's anger? _Wom_. Whom have I now to leane my old age on? _Man_. Who shall I now have to set right my youth? Gods, if yee be not fled from Heaven, helpe us. |
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