Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Sal. And is't not pitty, (oh my grieued friends)
Sal. That we, the sonnes and children of this Isle,
Sal. Was borne to see so sad an houre as this,
Sal. Wherein we step after a stranger, march
Sal. Vpon her gentle bosom, and fill vp
Sal. Her Enemies rankes? I must withdraw, and weepe
Sal. Vpon the spot of this inforced cause,
Sal. To grace the Gentry of a Land remote,
Sal. And follow vnacquainted colours heere:
Sal. What heere? O Nation that thou couldst remoue,
Sal. That Neptunes Armes who clippeth thee about,
Sal. Would beare thee from the knowledge of thy selfe,
Sal. And cripple thee vnto a Pagan shore,
Sal. Where these two Christian Armies might combine
Sal. The bloud of malice, in a vaine of league,
Sal. And not to spend it so vn‑neighbourly.
Dolph. Dolph.
Dolph. A noble temper dost thou shew in this,
Dolph. And great affections wrastling in thy bosome
Dolph. Doth make an earth‑quake of Nobility: