Of banquet, dance, and revel, are forgot, Of magic round thee is extinct — shalt have One half the laurel which o'ershades my grave. No power in death can tear our names apart, As none in life could rend thee from my heart. Yes, Leonora ! it shall be our fate To be entwined for ever- but too late! BEPPO A VENETIAN STORY 'Rosalind. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: Look, you lisp, and wear strange suits: disable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your Nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I will scarce think you have swam in a Gondola. As You Like It, Act IV. Scene 1. Annotation of the Commentators. "That is, been at Venice, which was much visited by the young English gentlemen of those times, and was then what Paris is now, seat of all dissoluteness.' the S. A. [Samuel Ayscough.] A single stitch reflecting upon friars, Although you swore it only was in fun; They 'd haul you o'er the coals, and stir the fires Of Phlegethon with every mother's son, Nor say one mass to cool the caldron's bubble 31 That boil'd your bones, unless you paid them double. V But saving this, you may put on whate'er You like by way of doublet, cape, or cloak, Such as in Monmouth-street, or in Rag Fair, Would rig you out in seriousness or joke; And even in Italy such places are, With prettier name in softer accents spoke, For, bating Covent Garden, I can hit on No place that's call'd 'Piazza' in Great |