Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Hel. Hel.
Hel. No maruel though you bite so sharp at reasons,
Hel. You are so empty of them, should not our Father
Hel. Beare the great sway of his affayres with reasons,
Hel. Becaufe your speech hath none that tels him so.
Troy. Troy.
Troy. You are for dreames & slumbers brother Priest
Troy. You furre your gloues with reason:here are your reasons
Troy. You know an enemy intends you harme,
Troy. You know, a sword imploy'd is perillous,
Troy. And reason flyes the obiect of all harme.
Troy. Who maruels then when Helenus beholds
Troy. A Grecian and his sword, if he do set
Troy. The very wings of reason to his heeles:
Troy. Or like a starre disorb'd. Nay, if we talke of Reason,
Troy. And flye like chidden Mercurie from Ioue,
Troy. Let's shut our gates and sleepe: Manhood and Honor
Troy. Should haue hard hearts, wold they but fat their thoughts
Troy. With this cramm'd reason: reason and respect,
Troy. Makes Liuers pale, and lustyhood deiect.