Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Troy I doe not speake of flight, of feare, of death,
Troy But dare all imminence that gods and men,
Troy Addresse their dangers in. Hector is gone:
Troy Who shall tell Priam so? or Hecuba?
Troy Let him that will a screechoule aye be call'd,
Troy Goe in to Troy, and say there, Hector's dead:
Troy There is a word will Priam turne to stone;
Troy Make wels, and Niobes of the maides and wiues;
Troy Coole statues of the youth: and in a word,
Troy Scarre Troy out of it selfe. But march away,
Troy Hector is dead: there is no more to say.
Troy Stay yet: you vile abhominable Tents,
Troy Thus proudly pight vpon our Phrygian plaines:
Troy Let Titan rise as early as he dare,
Troy Ile through, and through you; & thou great siz'd coward:
Troy No space of Earth shall sunder our two hates,
Troy Ile haunt thee, like a wicked conscience still,
Troy That mouldeth goblins swift as frensies thoughts.
Troy Strike a free march to Troy, with comfort goe:
Troy Hope of reuenge, shall hide our inward woe.