Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Iul. Sole Monarch of the vniuersall earth:
Iul. O what a beast was I to chide him?
Nur. Nur.
Nur. Will you speake well of him,
Nur. That kil'd your Cozen?
Iul. Iul.
Iul. Shall I speake ill of him that is my husband?
Iul. Ah poore my Lord, what tongue shall smooth thy name,
Iul. When I thy three houres wife haue mangled it.
Iul. But wherefore Villaine did'st thou kill my Cozin?
Iul. That Villaine Cozin would haue kil'd my husband:
Iul. Backe foolish teares, backe to your natiue spring,
Iul. Your tributarie drops belong to woe,
Iul. Which you mistaking offer vp to ioy:
Iul. My husband liues that Tibalt would haue slaine,
Iul. And Tibalt dead that would haue slaine my husband:
Iul. All this is comfort, wherefore weepe I then?
Iul. Some words there was worser then Tybalts death
Iul. That murdered me, I would forget it feine,
Iul. But oh, it presses to my memory,