Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Tim. Of contumelious, beastly, mad‑brain'd warre:
Tim. Then let him know, and tell him Timon speakes it,
Tim. In
Tim. Timon of Athens.
Tim. In pitty of our aged, and our youth,
Tim. I cannot choose but tell him that I care not,
Tim. And let him tak't at worst: For their Kniues care not,
Tim. While you haue throats to answer. For my selfe,
Tim. There's not a whittle, in th'vnruly Campe,
Tim. But I do prize it at my loue, before
Tim. The reuerends Throat in Athens. So I leaue you
Tim. To the protection of the prosperous Gods,
Tim. As Theeues to Keepers.
Stew. Stew.
Stew. Stay not, all's in vaine.
Tim. Tim.
Tim. Why I was writing of my Epitaph,
Tim. It will be seene to morrow. My long sicknesse
Tim. Of Health, and Liuing, now begins to mend,
Tim. And nothing brings me all things. Go, liue still,