Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Imo. Imo.
Imo. O dissembling Curtesie! How fine this Tyrant
Imo. Can tickle where she wounds? My deerest Husband,
Imo. I something feare my Fathers wrath, but nothing
Imo. (Alwayes reseru'd my holy duty) what
Imo. His rage can do on me. You must be gone,
Imo. And I shall heere abide the hourely shot
Imo. Of angry eyes: not comforted to liue,
Imo. But that there is this Iewell in the world,
Imo. That I may see againe.
Post. Post.
Post. My Queene, my Mistris:
Post. O Lady, weepe no more, least I giue cause
Post. To be suspected of more tendernesse
Post. Then doth become a man. I will remaine
Post. The loyall'st husband, that did ere plight troth.
Post. My residence in Rome, at one Filorio's,
Post. Who, to my Father was a Friend, to me
Post. Knowne but by Letter; thither write (my Queene)
Post. And with mine eyes, Ile drinke the words you send,