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Jean Ingelow

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A sweeter woman ne'er drew breath
Than my sonne's wife, Elizabeth.
--
"The High Tide on the Coast of Lincolnshire".

 
Jean Ingelow

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Cassidy was watching Elizabeth with something like awe. This was a side to her that Allison hadn’t seen before. Cassidy seemed to long for this woman’s approval, automatically doing everything a little bigger and better any time Elizabeth’s gaze turned in her direction

 
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Proctor: You will not judge me more, Elizabeth. I have good reason to think before I charge fraud on Abigail, and I will think on it. Let you look to your own improvement before you go to judge your husband any more. I have forgot Abigail, and —
Elizabeth: And I.
Proctor: Spare me! You forget nothin' and forgive nothin.' Learn charity, woman. I have gone tiptoe in this house all seven months since she is gone. I have not moved from there to here without I think to please you, and still an everlasting funeral marches round your heart. I cannot speak but I am doubted, every moment judged for lies, as though I come into a court when I come into this house!
Elizabeth: I do not judge you. The magistrate sits in your heart that judges you. I never thought you but a good man, John — only somewhat bewildered.
Proctor: Oh, Elizabeth, your justice would freeze beer!

 
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The funniest man who ever drew breath.

 
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Dan Chaucer, the first warbler, whose sweet breath
Preluded those melodious bursts that fill
The spacious times of great Elizabeth
With sounds that echo still.

 
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The sweeter sound of woman’s praise.

 
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