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Thomas Nashe
Thomas Nashe
- O, tis a precious apothegmatical Pedant, who will find matter enough to dilate a whole day of the first invention of Fy, fa, fum, I smell the blood of an English-man.Have with you to Saffron-walden (1596); see Shakespeare
- Beauty is but a flower
Which wrinkles will devour.Summer's Last Will and Testament (1600) l. 1588 - Brightness falls from the air;
Queens have died young and fair;
Dust hath closed Helen's eye.
I am sick, I must die.
Lord have mercy on us.Summer's Last Will and Testament (1600) l. 1590 - From winter, plague and pestilence, good lord, deliver us!Summer's Last Will and Testament (1600) l. 1878