Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Par. my Nell would not haue it so.
Par. How chance my brother Troylus went not?
Hel. Hel.
Hel. He hangs the lippe at something; you know all
Hel. Lord Pandarus?
Pan. Pan.
Pan. Not I hony sweete Queene: I long to heare how
Pan. they sped to day:
Pan. Youle remember your brothers excuse?
Par. Par.
Par. To a hayre.
Pan. Farewell sweete Queene.
Hel. Commend me to your Neece.
Pan. I will sweete Queene.
Pan. Sound a retreat.
Par. They're come from fielde: let vs to Priams Hall