Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Ham. Songs? Your flashes of Merriment that were wont to
Ham. set the Table on a Rore? No one now to mock your own
Ham. Ieering? Quite chopfalne? Now get you to my Ladies
Ham. Chamber, and tell her, let her paint an inch thicke, to this
Ham. fauour she must come. Make her laugh at that: pry
Ham. thee Horatio tell me one thing.
Hor. Hor.
Hor. What's that my Lord?
Ham. Ham.
Ham. Dost thou thinke Alexander lookt o'this fa
Ham. shion i'th'earth?
Hor. E'ene so.
Ham. And smelt so? Puh.
Hor. E'ene so, my Lord.
Ham. To what base vses we may returne Horatio.
Ham. Why may not Imagination trace the Noble dust of A