Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Hel. That driue thee from the sportiue Court, where thou
Hel. Was't shot at with faire eyes, to be the marke
Hel. Of smoakie Muskets? O you leaden messengers,
Hel. That ride vpon the violent speede of fire,
Hel. Fly with false ayme, moue the still‑peering aire
Hel. That sings with piercing, do not touch my Lord:
Hel. Who euer shoots at him, I set him there.
Hel. Who euer charges on his forward brest
Hel. I am the Caitiffe that do hold him too't,
Hel. And though I kill him not, I am the cause
Hel. His death was so effected: Better 'twere
Hel. I met the rauine Lyon when he roar'd
Hel. With sharpe constraint of hunger: better 'twere,
Hel. That all the miseries which nature owes
Hel. Were mine at once. No come thou home Rossillion,
Hel. Whence honor but of danger winnes a scarre,
Hel. As oft it looses all. I will be gone:
Hel. My being heere it is, that holds thee hence,
Hel. Shall I stay heere to doo't? No, no, although
Hel. The ayre of Paradise did fan the house,