Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Ros. Of him that heares it, neuer in the tongue
Ros. Of him that makes it: then, if sickly eares,
Ros. Deaft with the clamors of their owne deare grones,
Ros. Will heare your idle scornes; continue then,
Ros. And I will haue you, and that fault withall.
Ros. But if they will not, throw away that spirit,
Ros. And I shal finde you emptie of that fault,
Ros. Right ioyfull of your reformation.
Ber. Ber.
Ber. A tweluemonh? Well: befall what will befall,
Ber. Ile iest a tweluemonth in an Hospitall.
Qu. Qu.
Qu. I sweet my Lord, and so I take my leaue.
King. King.
King. No Madam, we will bring you on your way.
Ber. Our woing doth not end like an old Play:
Ber. Iacke hath not Gill: these Ladies courtesie
Ber. Might wel haue made our sport a Comedie.
Kin. Kin.