Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Hero. But Nature neuer fram'd a womans heart,
Hero. Of prowder stuffe then that of Beatrice:
Hero. Disdaine and Scorne ride sparkling in her eyes,
Hero. Mis‑prizing what they looke on, and her wit
Hero. Values it selfe so highly, that to her
Hero. All matter else seemes weake: she cannot loue,
Hero. Nor take no shape nor proiect of affection,
Hero. Shee is so selfe indeared.
Vrsula. Vrsula.
Vrsula. Sure I thinke so,
Vrsula. And therefore certainely it were not good
Vrsula. She knew his loue, lest she make sport at it.
Hero. Hero.
Hero. Why you speake truth, I neuer yet saw man,
Hero. How wise, how noble, yong, how rarely featur'd.
Hero. But she would spell him backward: if faire fac'd,
Hero. She would sweare the gentleman should be her sister:
Hero. If blacke, why Nature drawing of an anticke,
Hero. Made a foule blot: if tall, a launce ill headed:
Hero. If low, an agot very vildlie cut: