Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Cleo. No better then a Stye? Oh see my women:
Cleo. The Crowne o'th'earth doth melt. My Lord?
Cleo. Oh wither'd is the Garland of the Warre,
Cleo. The
Cleo. The Tragedie of
Cleo. The Souldiers pole is falne: young Boyes and Gyrles
Cleo. Are leuell now with men: The oddes is gone,
Cleo. And there is nothing left remarkeable
Cleo. Beneath the visiting Moone.
Char. Char.
Char. Oh quietnesse, Lady.
Iras. Iras.
Iras. She's dead too, our Soueraigne.
Char. Lady.
Iras. Madam.
Char. Oh Madam, Madam, Madam.