Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away
Cel. vpon curs, throw some of them at me; come lame mee
Cel. with reasons.
Ros. Ros.
Ros. Then there were two Cosens laid vp, when the
Ros. one should be lam'd with reasons, and the other mad
Ros. without any.
Cel. Cel.
Cel. But is all this for your Father?
Ros. No, some of it is for my childes Father: Oh
Ros. how full of briers is this working day world.
Cel. They are but burs, Cosen, throwne vpon thee
Cel. in holiday foolerie, if we walke not in the trodden paths
Cel. our very petty‑coates will catch them.
Ros. I could shake them off my coate, these burs are
Ros. in my heart.