Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Ber. At Christmas I no more desire a Rose,
Ber. Then wish a Snow in Mayes new fangled showes:
Ber. But like of each thing that in season growes.
Ber. So you to studie now it is too late,
Ber. That were to clymbe ore the house to vnlocke the gate.
Fer. Fer.
Fer. Well, sit you out: go home Berowne: adue.
Ber. Ber.
Ber. No my good Lord, I haue sworn to stay with you.
Ber. And though I haue for barbarisme spoke more,
Ber. Then for that Angell knowledge you can say,
Ber. Yet confident Ile keepe what I haue sworne,
Ber. And bide the pennance of each three yeares day.
Ber. Giue me the paper, let me reade the same,
Ber. And to the strictest decrees Ile write my name.
Fer. How well this yeelding rescues thee from shame.
Ber. Item. That no woman shall come within a mile
Ber. of my Court.