Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Clo. Clo.
Clo. I loue, and hate her: for she's Faire and Royall,
Clo. And that she hath all courtly parts more exquisite
Clo. Then
Clo. The Tragedie of Cymbeline.
Clo. Then Lady, Ladies, Woman, from euery one
Clo. The best she hath, and she of all compounded
Clo. Out‑selles them all. I loue her therefore, but
Clo. Disdaining me, and throwing Fauours on
Clo. The low Posthumus, slanders so her iudgement,
Clo. That what's else rare, is choak'd: and in that point
Clo. I will conclude to hate her, nay indeede,
Clo. To be reueng'd vpon her. For, when Fooles shall—
Clo. Enter Pisanio.
Clo. Who is heere? What, are you packing sirrah?
Clo. Come hither: Ah you precious Pandar, Villaine,
Clo. Where is thy Lady? In a word, or else
Clo. Thou art straightway with the Fiends.
Pis. Pis.
Pis. Oh, good my Lord.