Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Mar. But what in deede is honest to be done:
Mar. Yet haue I fierce Affections, and thinke
Mar. What Venus did with Mars.
Cleo. Cleo.
Cleo. Oh Charmion:
Cleo. Where think'st thou he is now? Stands he, or sits he?
Cleo. Or does he walke? Or is he on his Horse?
Cleo. Oh happy horse to beare the weight of Anthony!
Cleo. Do brauely Horse, for wot'st thou whom thou moou'st,
Cleo. The demy Atlas of this Earth, the Arme
Cleo. And Burganet of men. Hee's speaking now,
Cleo. Or murmuring, where's my Serpent of old Nyle,
Cleo. (For so he cals me:) Now I feede my selfe
Cleo. With most delicious poyson. Thinke on me
Cleo. That am with Phœbus amorous pinches blacke,
Cleo. And wrinkled deepe in time. Broad‑fronted Cæsar,
Cleo. When thou was't heere aboue the ground, I was
Cleo. A morsell for a Monarke: and great Pompey
Cleo. Would stand and make his eyes grow in my brow,
Cleo. There would he anchor his Aspect, and dye