Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Tim. Plucke the lyn'd Crutch from thy old limping Sire,
Tim. With it, beate out his Braines. Piety, and Feare,
Tim. Religion to the Gods, Peace, Iustice, Truth,
Tim. Domesticke awe, Night‑rest, and Neighbour‑hood,
Tim. Instruction, Manners, Mysteries, and Trades,
Tim. Degrees, Obseruances, Customes, and Lawes,
Tim. Decline to your confounding contraries.
Tim. And yet Confusion liue: Plagues incident to men,
Tim. Your potent and infectious Feauors, heape
Tim. On Athens ripe for stroke. Thou cold Sciatica,
Tim. Cripple our Senators, that their limbes may halt
Tim. As lamely as their Manners. Lust, and Libertie
Tim. Creepe in the Mindes and Marrowes of our youth,
Tim. That 'gainst the streame of Vertue they may striue,
Tim. And drowne themselues in Riot. Itches, Blaines,
Tim. Sowe all th'Athenian bosomes, and their crop
Tim. Be generall Leprosie: Breath, infect breath,
Tim. That their Society (as their Friendship) may
Tim. Be meerely poyson. Nothing Ile beare from thee
Tim. But nakednesse, thou detestable Towne,