Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Paul. So I would you did: then 'twere past all doubt
Paul. Youl’d call your children, yours.
Leo. Leo.
Leo. A nest of Traitors.
Ant. Ant.
Ant. I am none, by this good light.
Pau. Pau.
Pau. Nor I: nor any
Pau. But one that’s heere: and that’s himselfe: for he,
Pau. The
Pau. The Winters Tale.
Pau. The sacred Honor of himselfe, his Queenes,
Pau. His hopefull Sonnes, his Babes, betrayes to Slander,
Pau. Whose sting is sharper then the Swords; and will not
Pau. (For as the case now stands, it is a Curse
Pau. He cannot be compell’d too’t) once remoue
Pau. The Root of his Opinion, which is rotten,
Pau. As euer Oake, or Stone was sound.
Leo. A Callat