Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Mow. And dull, vnfeeling, barren ignorance,
Mow. Is made my Gaoler to attend on me:
Mow. I am too old to fawne vpon a Nurse,
Mow. Too farre in yeeres to be a pupill now:
Mow. What is thy sentence then, but speechlesse death,
Mow. Which robs my tongue from breathing natiue breath?
Rich. Rich.
Rich. It boots thee not to be compassionate,
Rich. After our sentence, plaining comes too late.
Mow. Mow.
Mow. Then thus I turne me from my countries light
Mow. To dwell in solemne shades of endlesse night.
Ric. Ric.
Ric. Returne againe, and take an oath with thee,
Ric. Lay on our Royall sword, your banisht hands;
Ric. Sweare by the duty that you owe to heauen
Ric. (Our part therein we banish with your selues)
Ric. To keepe the Oath that we administer:
Ric. You neuer shall (so helpe you Truth, and Heauen)
Ric. Embrace each others loue in banishment,