The White Devil by John Webster
page 94 of 204 (46%)
page 94 of 204 (46%)
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Re-enter Flamineo. Flam. How dares this banish'd count return to Rome, His pardon not yet purchas'd! I have heard The deceased duchess gave him pension, And that he came along from Padua I' th' train of the young prince. There 's somewhat in 't: Physicians, that cure poisons, still do work With counter-poisons. Marc. Mark this strange encounter. Flam. The god of melancholy turn thy gall to poison, And let the stigmatic wrinkles in thy face, Like to the boisterous waves in a rough tide, One still overtake another. Lodo. I do thank thee, And I do wish ingeniously for thy sake, The dog-days all year long. Flam. How croaks the raven? Is our good duchess dead? |
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