Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Tit. No big‑bon'd‑men, fram'd of the Cyclops size,
Tit. But mettall Marcus steele to the very backe,
Tit. Yet wrung with wrongs more then our backe can beare:
Tit. And sith there's no iustice in earth nor hell,
Tit. We will sollicite heauen, and moue the Gods
Tit. To send downe Iustice for to wreake our wongswrongs:
Tit. Come to this geare, you are a good Archer Marcus.
Tit. He giues them the Arrowes.
Tit. Ad Iouem, that's for you: here ad Appollonem,
Tit. Ad Martem, that's for my selfe,
Tit. Heere Boy to Pallas, heere to Mercury,
Tit. To Saturnine, to Caius, not to Saturnine,
Tit. You were as good to shoote against the winde.
Tit. Too it Boy, Marcus loose when I bid:
Tit. Of my word, I haue written to effect,
Tit. Ther's not a God left vnsollicited.
Marc. Marc.
Marc. Kinsmen, shoot all your shafts into the Court,
Marc. We will afflict the Emperour in his pride.
Tit. Tit.