Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Sil. I know not the contents, but as I guesse
Sil. By the sterne brow, and waspish action
Sil. Which she did vse, as she was writing of it,
Sil. It beares an angry tenure; pardon me,
Sil. I am but as a guiltlesse messenger.
Ros. Ros.
Ros. Patience her selfe would startle at this letter,
Ros. And play the swaggerer, beare this, beare all:
Ros. Shee saies I am not faire, that I lacke manners,
Ros. She calls me proud, and that she could not loue me
Ros. Were man as rare as Phenix: 'od's my will,
Ros. Her loue is not the Hare that I doe hunt,
Ros. Why writes she so to me? well Shepheard, well,
Ros. This is a Letter of your owne deuice.
Sil. Sil.
Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents,
Sil. Phebe did write it.
Ros. Come, come, you are a foole,
Ros. And turn'd into the extremity of loue.