Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Gui. Were nothing Prince‑like; for he did prouoke me
Gui. With Language that would make me spurne the Sea,
Gui. If it could so roare to me. I cut off's head,
Gui. And am right glad he is not standing heere
Gui. To tell this tale of mine.
Cym. Cym.
Cym. I am sorrow for thee:
Cym. By thine owne tongue thou art condemn'd, and must
Cym. Endure our Law: Thou'rt dead.
Imo. Imo.
Imo. That headlesse man I thought had bin my Lord
Cym. Binde the Offender,
Cym. And take him from our presence.
Bel. Bel.
Bel. Stay, Sir King.
Bel. This man is better then the man he slew,
Bel. As well descended as thy selfe, and hath
Bel. More of thee merited, then a Band of Clotens
Bel. Had euer scarre for. Let his Armes alone,