Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Iach. That Paragon, thy daughter,
Iach. For whom my heart drops blood, and my false spirits
Iach. Quaile to remember. Giue me leaue, I faint.
Cym. Cym.
Cym. My Daughter? what of hir? Renew thy strength
Cym. I had rather thou should'st liue, while Nature will,
Cym. Then dye ere I heare more: striue man, and speake.
Iach. Iach.
Iach. Vpon a time, vnhappy was the clocke
Iach. That strooke the houre: it was in Rome, accurst
Iach. The Mansion where: 'twas at a Feast, oh would
Iach. Our Viands had bin poyson'd (or at least
Iach. Those which I heau'd to head:) the good Posthumus,
Iach. (What should I say? he was too good to be
Iach. Where ill men were, and was the best of all
Iach. Among'st the rar'st of good ones) sitting sadly,
Iach. Hearing vs praise our Loues of Italy
Iach. For Beauty, that made barren the swell'd boast
Iach. Of him that best could speake: for Feature, laming
Iach. The Shrine of Venus, or straight‑pight Minerua,