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Henry VIII is the work of Fletcher and Shakespeare, opinion being divided as to whether Shakespeare helped Fletcher, or whether it was an unfinished work of Shakespeare which was put into Fletcher's hands for completion. Two Noble Kinsmen is a play not ordinarily found in editions of Shakespeare, but it is often placed among his doubtful works.
I dare boldly affirm these two things of the English Drama, "First. That we have many Plays of ours as regular as any of theirs; and which, besides, have more variety of Plot and Characters. And "Secondly. "I could produce, even in SHAKESPEARE's and FLETCHER's Works, some Plays which are almost exactly formed; as the Merry Wives of Windsor and the Scornful Lady.
He was almost past before she succeeded in making her quivering lips call, "Pacifique!" Pacifique turned with a grin and a cheerful good morning. "Pacifique," said Anne faintly, "did you come from George Fletcher's this morning?" "Sure," said Pacifique amiably. "I got de word las' night dat my fader, he was seeck.
The scene of Webster's two best tragedies was laid, like many of Ford's, Cyril Tourneur's, and Beaumont and Fletcher's, in Italy the wicked and splendid Italy of the Renaissance, which had such a fascination for the Elizabethan imagination.
We must trust to analysis to show wherein lay the weakness of the piece; later we may be able to suggest some cause for Fletcher's failure. In the first place we may consider for a moment Fletcher's indebtedness to Tasso and Guarini, a question on which very different views have been held.
Over a distant meadow fluted the silver whistle of a partridge, and Christopher, lifting his head, noted involuntarily the direction of the sound. A covey was hatching down by the meadow brook, he knew for not a summer mating nor a hidden nest had escaped his eyes and he wondered vaguely if the young birds were roaming into Fletcher's wheatfield.
Thus Hannah Lee went through fire and water, even unto worse than death, for the sake of him she loved. And verily she had her reward. When the sun rose, there only remained a black and ugly pit to mark the place where Deacon Fletcher's house had stood. And of all its inmates, only Jason carefully watched and tended at the house of Peter Hopkins was left to tell the tale of that night's tragedy.
You don't remember me yet you used to bake me ash-cakes when I was a little girl." The old woman shook her head. "You ain' Marse Fletcher's chile?" "His granddaughter but I must go in to supper. Here is the money for your chickens grandpa was only joking; you know he loves to joke. Take the chickens to the hen-house and get something hot to eat in the kitchen before you start out again."
"I've promised them an apple for every one they catch." Her gaze wandered over the broad fields, rich in promise, and she added after a moment, "Fletcher's crop has come on splendidly." "The more's the pity."
Bill Fletcher's granddaughter had, he felt, no right to this rare security of breeding which revealed itself in every graceful fold of the dress she wore, for with Fletcher an honest man she would have been, perhaps, but one of the sallow, over-driven drudges who stare like helpless effigies from the little tumbledown cabins along country roadsides.
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