Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Cla. Imagine howling, 'tis too horrible.
Cla. The weariest, and most loathed worldly life
Cla. That Age, Ache, periury, and imprisonment
Cla. Can lay on nature, is a Paradise
Cla. To what we feare of death.
Isa. Isa.
Isa. Alas, alas.
Cla. Cla.
Cla. Sweet Sister, let me liue.
Cla. What sinne you do, to saue a brothers life,
Cla. Nature dispenses with the deede so farre,
Cla. That it becomes a vertue.
Isa. Oh you beast,
Isa. Oh faithlesse Coward, oh dishonest wretch,
Isa. Wilt thou be made a man, out of my vice?
Isa. Is't not a kinde of Incest, to take life
Isa. From thine owne sisters shame? What should I thinke,
Isa. Heauen shield my Mother plaid my Father faire:
Isa. For such a warped slip of wildernesse