Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Aron. And what not done, that thou hast cause to rue,
Aron. Wherein I had no stroke of Mischeife in it.
Aron. I play'd the Cheater for thy Fathers hand,
Aron. And when I had it, drew my selfe apart,
Aron. And almost broke my heart with extreame laughter.
Aron. I pried me through the Creuice of a Wall,
Aron. When for his hand, he had his two Sonnes heads,
Aron. Beheld his teares, and laught so hartily,
Aron. That both mine eyes were rainie like to his:
Aron. And when I told the Empresse of this sport,
Aron. She sounded almost at my pleasing tale,
Aron. And for my tydings, gaue me twenty kisses.
Goth. Goth.
Goth. What canst thou say all this, and neuer blush?
Aron. Aron.
Aron. I, like a blacke Dogge, as the saying is.
Luci. Luci.
Luci. Art thou not sorry for these hainous deedes?
Aron. I, that I had not done a thousand more: