Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Hel. And Angels offic'd all: I will be gone,
Hel. That pittifull rumour may report my flight
Hel. To consolate thine eare. Come night, end day,
Hel. For with the darke (poore theefe) Ile steale away.
Hel. Exit.
Hel. [Act 3, Scene 3]
Hel. Flourish. Enter the Duke of Florence, Rossillion,
Hel. drum and trumpets, soldiers, Parrolles.
Duke. Duke.
Duke. The Generall of our horse thou art, and we
Duke. Great in our hope, lay our best loue and credence
Duke. Vpon thy promising fortune.
Ber. Ber.
Ber. Sir it is
Ber. A charge too heauy for my strength, but yet
Ber. Wee'l striue to beare it for your worthy sake,
Ber. To th'extreme edge of hazard.
Duke. Then go thou forth,
Duke. And fortune play vpon thy prosperous helme