Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Aron. Aron.
Aron. What, must it Nurse? Then let no man but I
Aron. Doe execution on my flesh and blood.
Deme. Deme.
Deme. Ile broach the Tadpole on my Rapiers point:
Deme. Nurse giue it me, my sword shall soone dispatch it.
Aron. Sooner this sword shall plough thy bowels vp.
Aron. Stay murtherous villaines, will you kill your brother?
Aron. Now by the burning Tapers of the skie,
Aron. That sho'neshone so brightly when this Boy was got,
Aron. He dies vpon my Semitars sharpe point,
Aron. That touches this my first borne sonne and heire.
Aron. I tell you younglings, not Enceladus
Aron. With all his threatning band of Typhons broode,
Aron. Nor great Alcides, nor the God of warre,
Aron. Shall ceaze this prey out of his fathers hands:
Aron. What, what, ye sanguine shallow harted Boyes,
Aron. Ye white‑limb'd walls, ye Ale‑house painted signes,
Aron. Cole‑blacke is better then another hue,