The Comedies of William Congreve, Volume 2

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Page 130 - Pancras that they stand behind one another as 'twere in a country dance. Ours was the last couple to lead up, and no hopes appearing of dispatch — besides, the parson growing hoarse, we were afraid his lungs would have failed before it came to our turn — so we drove round to Duke's Place,* and there they were rivetted in a trice.
Page 93 - The sooner the better. Jeremy, come hither, closer, that none may overhear us. Jeremy, I can tell you news. Angelica is turned nun, and I am turning friar, and yet we'll marry one another in spite of the Pope. Get me a cowl and beads, that I may play my part, for she'll meet me two hours hence in black and white, and a long veil to cover the project, and we won't see one another's faces till we have done something to be ashamed of; and then we'll blush once for all.
Page 100 - But there's regularity and method in that ; she is a medal without a reverse or inscription, for indifference has both sides alike. Yet while she does not seem to hate me, I will pursue her, and know her if it be possible, in spite of the opinion of my satirical friend, Scandal, who says, That women are like tricks by sleight of hand, Which, to admire, we should not understand.
Page 159 - A cup, save thee, and what a cup hast thou brought! Dost thou take me for a fairy, to drink out of an acorn?
Page 184 - The pedantic arrogance of a very husband has not so pragmatical an air. Ah! I'll never marry, unless I am first made sure of my will and pleasure.
Page 158 - I have no more patience. - If I have not fretted myself till I am pale again, there's no veracity in me. Fetch me the red - the red, do you hear, sweetheart? An arrant ash colour, as I'ma person.
Page 177 - I am certain; so there's an end of jealousy: — weary of her I am, and shall be — no, there's no end of that — no, no, that were too much to hope.
Page 95 - My friend ? what to do ? I am no married man, and thou canst not lie with my wife ; I am very poor, and thou canst not borrow money of me ; then what employment have I for a friend ? Tat.
Page 191 - The sun's a good pimple, an honest soaker; he has a cellar at your Antipodes. If I travel, aunt, I touch at your Antipodes.— Your Antipodes are a good, rascally sort of topsy-turvy fellows: if I had a bumper, I'd stand upon my head and drink a health to 'em. — A match or no match, cousin with the hard name?— Aunt, Wilfull will do't.
Page 124 - Sure scribbling fools, called poets, fare the worst: For they're a sort of fools which Fortune makes, And after she has made 'em fools, forsakes.

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