Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Troy. In Cressids loue. Thou answer'st she is Faire,
Troy. Powr'st in the open Vlcer of my heart,
Troy. Her Eyes, her Haire, her Cheeke, her Gate her Voice,
Troy. Handlest in thy discourse. O that her Hand
Troy. (In whose comparison, all whites are Inke)
Troy. Writing their owne reproach; to whose soft seizure,
Troy. The Cignits Downe is harsh, and spirit of Sense
Troy. Hard as the palme of Plough‑man. This thou tel'st me;
Troy. As true thou tel'st me, when I say I loue her
Troy. But saying thus, instead of Oyle and Balme,
Troy. Thou lai'st in euery gash that loue hath giuen me,
Troy. The Knife that made it.
Pan. Pan.
Pan. I speake no more then truth.
Troy. Troy.
Troy. Thou do'st not speake so much.
Pan. Faith, Ile not meddle in't: Let her be as shee is
Pan. if she be faire, 'tis the better for her: and she be not, she
Pan. ha's the mends in her owne hands.