Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Aron. That both mine eyes were rainie like to his:
Aron. And when I told the Empresse of this sport,
Aron. She sounded almost at my pleasing tale,
Aron. And for my tydings, gaue me twenty kisses.
Goth. Goth.
Goth. What canst thou say all this, and neuer blush?
Aron. Aron.
Aron. I, like a blacke Dogge, as the saying is.
Luci. Luci.
Luci. Art thou not sorry for these hainous deedes?
Aron. I, that I had not done a thousand more:
Aron. Euen now I curse the day, and yet I thinke
Aron. Few come within few compasse of my curse,
Aron. Wherein I did not some Notorious ill,
Aron. As kill a man, or else deuise his death,
Aron. Rauish a Maid, or plot the way to do it,
Aron. Accuse some Innocent, and forsweare my selfe,
Aron. Set deadly Enmity betweene two Friends,
Aron. Make poore mens Cattell breake their neckes,