Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Bel. This Rocke, and these Demesnes, haue bene my World,
Bel. Where I haue liu'd at honest freedome, payed
Bel. More pious debts to Heauen, then in all
Bel. The fore‑end of my time. But, vp to'th'Mountaines,
Bel. This is not Hunters Language; he that strikes
Bel. The Venison first, shall be the Lord o'th'Feast,
Bel. To him the other two shall minister,
Bel. And we will feare no poyson, which attends
Bel. In place of greater State:
Bel. Ile meete you in the Valleyes.
Bel. Exeunt.
Bel. How hard it is to hide the sparkes of Nature?
Bel. These Boyes know little they are Sonnes to'th'King,
Bel. Nor Cymbeline dreames that they are aliue.
Bel. They thinke they are mine,
Bel. And though train'd vp thus meanely
Bel. I'th'Caue, whereon the Bowe their thoughts do hit,
Bel. The Roofes of Palaces, and Nature prompts them
Bel. In simple and lowe things, to Prince it, much
Bel. Beyond the tricke of others. This Paladour,