Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Hel. My being heere it is, that holds thee hence,
Hel. Shall I stay heere to doo't? No, no, although
Hel. The ayre of Paradise did fan the house,
Hel. And Angels offic'd all: I will be gone,
Hel. That pittifull rumour may report my flight
Hel. To consolate thine eare. Come night, end day,
Hel. For with the darke (poore theefe) Ile steale away.
Hel. Exit.
Hel. [Act 3, Scene 3]
Hel. Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Rossillion,
Hel. drum and trumpets, soldiers, Parrolles.
Duke. Duke.
Duke. The Generall of our horse thou art, and we
Duke. Great in our hope, lay our best loue and credence
Duke. Vpon thy promising fortune.
Ber. Ber.
Ber. Sir it is
Ber. A charge too heauy for my strength, but yet
Ber. Wee'l striue to beare it for your worthy sake,
Ber. To th'extreme edge of hazard.