Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Sil. His Iulia gave it him, at his departure:
Sil. Though his false finger have prophan'd the Ring,
Sil. Mine shall not doe his Iulia so much wrong.
Iul. Iul.
Iul. She thankes you.
Sil. Sil.
Sil. What sai'st thou?
Iul. I thank you Madam, that you tender her:
Iul. Poor Gentlewoman, my Master wrongs her much.
Sil. Do'st thou know her?
Iul. Almost as well as I doe know my selfe.
Iul. To thinke vpon her woes, I doe protest
Iul. That I haue wept a hundred severall times.
Sil. Belike she thinks that Protheus hath forsook her?
Iul. I thinke she doth: and that's her cause of sorrow.