Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Cres. Cres.
Cres. Good night: I prythee come:
Cres. Troylus farewell; one eye yet lookes on thee;
Cres. But with my heart, the other eye, doth see.
Cres. Ah poore our sexe this fault in vs I finde:
Cres. The errour of our eye, directs our minde.
Cres. What errour leads, must erre: O then conclude,
Cres. Mindes swai'd by eyes, are full of turpitude.
Cres. Exit.
Ther. Ther.
Ther. A proofe of strength she could not publish more;
Ther. Vnlesse she say, my minde is now turn'd whore.
Vlis. Vlis.
Vlis. Al's done my Lord.
Troy. Troy.
Troy. It is.
Vlis. Why stay we then?
Troy. To make a recordation to my soule