Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Imo. That cures vs both. I am much sorry (Sir)
Imo. You put me to forget a Ladies manners
Imo. By being so verball: and learne now, for all,
Imo. That I which know my heart, do heere pronounce
Imo. By th'very truth of it, I care not for you,
Imo. And am so neere the lacke of Charitie
Imo. To accuse my selfe, I hate you: which I had rather
Imo. You felt, then make't my boast.
Clot. Clot.
Clot. You sinne against
Clot. Obedience, which you owe your Father, for
Clot. The Contract you pretend with that base Wretch,
Clot. One, bred of Almes, and foster'd with cold dishes,
Clot. With scraps o'th'Court: It is no Contract, none;
Clot. And though it be allowed in meaner parties
Clot. (Yet who then he more meane) to knit their soules
Clot. (On whom there is no more dependancie
Clot. But Brats and Beggery) in selfe‑figur'd knot,
Clot. Yet you are curb'd from that enlargement, by
Clot. aaa