Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Mort. And curbes himselfe, euen of his naturall scope,
Mort. When you doe crosse his humor: 'faith he does.
Mort. I warrant you, that man is not aliue,
Mort. Might so haue tempted him, as you haue done,
Mort. Without the taste of danger, and reproofe:
Mort. But doe not vse it oft, let me entreat you.
Worc. Worc.
Worc. In faith, my Lord, you are too wilfull blame,
Worc. And since your comming hither, haue done enough,
Worc. To put him quite besides his patience.
Worc. You must needes learne, Lord, to amend this fault:
Worc. Though sometimes it shew Greatnesse, Courage, Blood,
Worc. And that's the dearest grace it renders you;
Worc. Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh Rage,
Worc. Defect of Manners, want of Gouernment,
Worc. Pride, Haughtinesse, Opinion, and Disdaine:
Worc. The least of which, haunting a Nobleman,
Worc. Loseth mens hearts, and leaues behinde a stayne
Worc. Vpon the beautie of all parts besides,
Worc. Beguiling them of commendation.