Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Pol. Whom sonne I dare not call: Thou art too base
Pol. To be acknowledge. Thou a Scepters heire,
Pol. That thus affects a sheepe‑hooke? Thou, old Traitor,
Pol. I am sorry, that by hanging thee, I can
Pol. But shorten thy life one weeke. And thou, fresh peece
Pol. Of excellent Witchcraft, whom of force must know
Pol. The royall Foole thou coap’st with.
Shep. Shep.
Shep. Oh my heart.
Pol. Pol.
Pol. Ile haue thy beauty scratcht with briers & made
Pol. More homely then thy state. For thee (fond boy)
Pol. If I may euer know thou dost but sigh,
Pol. That thou no more shalt neuer see this knacke (as neuer
Pol. I meane thou shalt) wee’l barre thee from succession,
Pol. Not hold thee of our blood, no not our Kin,
Pol. Farre then Deucalion off: (marke thou my words)
Pol. Follow vs to the Court. Thou Churle, for this time
Pol. (Though full of our displeasure) yet we free thee
Pol. From the dead blow of it. And you Enchantment,