Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Bel. These Boyes know little they are Sonnes to'th'King,
Bel. Nor Cymbeline dreames that they are aliue.
Bel. They thinke they are mine,
Bel. And though train'd vp thus meanely
Bel. I'th'Caue, whereon the Bowe their thoughts do hit,
Bel. The Roofes of Palaces, and Nature prompts them
Bel. In simple and lowe things, to Prince it, much
Bel. Beyond the tricke of others. This Paladour,
Bel. The heyre of Cymbeline and Britaine, who
Bel. The King his Father call'd Guiderius. Ioue,
Bel. When on my three‑foot stoole I sit, and tell
Bel. The warlike feats I haue done, his spirits flye out
Bel. Into my Story: say thus mine Enemy fell,
Bel. And thus I set my foote on's necke, euen then
Bel. The Princely blood flowes in his Cheeke, he sweats,
Bel. Straines his yong Nerues, and puts himselfe in posture
Bel. That acts my words. The yonger Brother Cadwall,
Bel. Once Aruiragus, in as like a figure
Bel. Strikes life into my speech, and shewes much more
Bel. His owne conceyuing. Hearke, the Game is rows'd,