Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Iach. Should he make me
Iach. Liue like Diana's Priest, betwixt cold sheets,
Iach. Whiles he is vaulting variable Rampes
Iach. In your despight, vpon your purse: reuenge it.
Iach. I dedicate my selfe to your sweet pleasure,
Iach. More Noble then that runnagate to your bed,
Iach. And will continue fast to your Affection,
Iach. Still close, as sure.
Imo. Imo.
Imo. What hoa, Pisanio?
Iach. Iach.
Iach. Let me my seruice tender on your lippes.
Imo. Away, I do condemne mine eares, that haue
Imo. So long attended thee. If thou wert Honourable
Imo. Thou would'st haue told this tale for Vertue, not
Imo. For such an end thou seek'st, as base, as strange:
Imo. Thou wrong'st a Gentleman, who is as farre
Imo. From thy report, as thou from Honor: and
Imo. Solicites heere a Lady, that disdaines