Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Leo. Of boundlesse tongue, who late hath beat her Husband,
Leo. And now bayts me: This Brat is none of mine,
Leo. It is the Issue of Polixenes.
Leo. Hence with it, and together with the Dam,
Leo. Commit them to the fire.
Paul. Paul.
Paul. It is yours:
Paul. And might we lay th’old Prouerb to your charge,
Paul. So like you, 'tis the worse. Behold (my Lords)
Paul. Although the Print be little, the whole Matter
Paul. And Coppy of the Father: (Eye, Nose, Lippe,
Paul. The trick of’s Frowne, his Fore‑head, nay, the Valley,
Paul. The pretty dimples of his Chin, and Cheeke; his Smiles:
Paul. The very Mold, and frame of Hand, Nayle, Finger.)
Paul. And thou good Goddesse Nature, which hast made it
Paul. So like to him that got it, if thou hast
Paul. The ordering of the Mind too, 'mongst all Colours
Paul. No Yellow in’t, least she suspect, as he do’s,
Paul. Her Children, not her Husbands.
Leo. Leo.