Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Brutus. Nor shewing (as the manner is) his Wounds
Brutus. Toth' People, begge their stinking Breaths.
Scicin. Scicin.
Scicin. 'Tis right.
Brutus. Brutus.
Brutus. It was his word:
Brutus. Oh he would misse it, rather then carry it,
Brutus. But by the suite of the Gentry to him,
Brutus. And the desire of the Nobles.
Scicin. I wish no better, then haue him hold that pur
Scicin. pose, and to put it in execution.
Brutus. 'Tis most like he will.
Scicin. It shall be to him then, as our good wills; a
Scicin. sure destruction.
Brutus. So it must fall out
Brutus. To him, or our Authorities, for an end.