Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Vlys. 'Twixt his stretcht footing, and the Scaffolage,
Vlys. Such to be pittied, and ore‑rested seeming
Vlys. He acts thy Greatnesse in: and when he speakes,
Vlys. 'Tis like a Chime a mending. With tearmes vnsquar'd,
Vlys. Which from the tongue of roaring Typhon dropt,
Vlys. Would seemes Hyperboles. At this fusty stuffe,
Vlys. The large Achilles (on his prest‐bed lolling)
Vlys. From his deepe Chest, laughes out a lowd applause,
Vlys. Cries excellent,'tis Agamemnon iust.
Vlys. Now play me Nestor; hum, and stroke thy Beard
Vlys. As he, being drest to some Oration
Vlys. That's done, as neere as the extreamest ends
Vlys. Of paralels; as like, as Vulcan and his wife,
Vlys. Yet god Achilles still cries excellent,
Vlys. 'Tis Nestor right. Now play him (me) Patroclus,
Vlys. Arming to answer in a night‑Alarme,
Vlys. And then (forsooth) the faint defects of Age
Vlys. Must be the Scene of myrth, to cough, and spit,
Vlys. And with a palsie fumbling on his Gorget,
Vlys. Shake in and out the Riuet: and at this sport