Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Mar. It wafts you to a more remoued ground:
Mar. But doe not goe with it.
Hor. Hor.
Hor. No, by no meanes.
Ham. Ham.
Ham. It will not speake: then will I follow it.
Hor. Doe not my Lord.
Ham. Why, what should be the feare?
Ham. I doe not set my life at a pins fee;
Ham. And for my Soule, what can it doe to that?
Ham. Being a thing immortall as it selfe:
Ham. It waues me forth againe; Ile follow it.
Hor. What if it tempt you toward the Floud my Lord?
Hor. Or to the dreadfull Sonnet of the Cliffe,
Hor. That beetles o're his base into the Sea,
Hor. And there assumes some other horrible forme,
Hor. Which might depriue your Soueraignty of Reason,