Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Mort. Without the taste of danger, and reproofe:
Mort. But doe not vse it oft, let me entreat you.
Worc. Worc.
Worc. In faith, my Lord, you are too wilfull blame,
Worc. And since your comming hither, haue done enough,
Worc. To put him quite besides his patience.
Worc. You must needes learne, Lord, to amend this fault:
Worc. Though sometimes it shew Greatnesse, Courage, Blood,
Worc. And that's the dearest grace it renders you;
Worc. Yet oftentimes it doth present harsh Rage,
Worc. Defect of Manners, want of Gouernment,
Worc. Pride, Haughtinesse, Opinion, and Disdaine:
Worc. The least of which, haunting a Nobleman,
Worc. Loseth mens hearts, and leaues behinde a stayne
Worc. Vpon the beautie of all parts besides,
Worc. Beguiling them of commendation.
Hotsp. Hotsp.
Hotsp. Well, I am school'd:
Hotsp. Good‑manners be your speede;
Hotsp. Heere come your Wiues, and let vs take our leaue.