Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Luc. And sent her enemies vnto the graue.
Luc. Lastly, my selfe vnkindly banished,
Luc. The gates shut on me, and turn'd weeping out,
Luc. To beg reliefe among Romes Enemies,
Luc. Who drown'd their enmity in my true teares,
Luc. And op'd their armes to imbrace me as a Friend:
Luc. And I am turned forth, be it knowne to you,
Luc. That haue preseru'd her welfare in my blood,
Luc. And from her bosome tooke the Enemies point,
Luc. Sheathing the steele in my aduentrous body.
Luc. Alas you know, I am no Vaunter I,
Luc. My scars can witnesse, dumbe although they are,
Luc. That my report is iust and full of truth:
Luc. But soft, me thinkes I do digresse too much,
Luc. Cyting my worthlesse praise: Oh pardon me,
Luc. For when no Friends are by, men praise themselues,
Marc. Marc.
Marc. Now is my turne to speake: Behold this Child,
Marc. Of this was Tamora deliuered,
Marc. The issue of an Irreligious Moore,