Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Malc. Let not my Iealousies, be your Dishonors,
Malc. But mine owne Safeties: you may be rightly iust,
Malc. What euer I shall thinke.
Macd. Macd.
Macd. Bleed, bleed poore Country,
Macd. Great Tyrrany, lay thou thy basis sure,
Macd. For goodnesse dare not check thee: wear yu thy wrongs,
Macd. The Title, is affear'd. Far thee well Lord,
Macd. I would not be the Villaine that thou think'st,
Macd. For the whole Space that's in the Tyrants Graspe,
Macd. And the rich East to boot.
Mal. Mal.
Mal. Be not offended:
Mal. I speake not as in absolute feare of you:
Mal. I thinke our Country sinkes beneath the yoake,
Mal. It weepes, it bleeds, and each new day a gash
Mal. Is added to her wounds. I thinke withall,
Mal. There would be hands vplifted in my right:
Mal. And heere from gracious England haue I offer
Mal. Of goodly thousands. But for all this,