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- Edition: The Winter's Tale
The Winter's Tale (Folio 1, 1623)
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278The Winters Tale.
102Pol. No, Madame.
103Her. Nay, but you will?
104Pol. I may not verely.
105Her. Verely?
106You put me off with limber Vowes: but I,
108Should yet say, Sir, no going: Verely
109You shall not goe; a Ladyes Verely 'is
110As potent as a Lords. Will you goe yet?
111Force me to keepe you as a Prisoner,
115One of them you shall be.
119Then you to punish.
120Her. Not your Gaoler then,
122Of my Lords Tricks, and yours, when you were Boyes:
123You were pretty Lordings then?
124Pol. We were (faire Queene)
125Two Lads, that thought there was no more behind,
126But such a day to morrow, as to day,
127And to be Boy eternall.
128Her. Was not my Lord
129The veryer Wag o'th' two?
131And bleat the one at th' other: what we chang'd,
132Was Innocence, for Innocence: we knew not
133The Doctrine of ill-doing, nor dream'd
134That any did: Had we pursu'd that life,
135And our weake Spirits ne're been higher rear'd
137Boldly, not guilty; the Imposition clear'd,
138Hereditarie ours.
139Her. By this we gather
140You haue tript since.
142Temptations haue since then been borne to's: for
144Your precious selfe had then not cross'd the eyes
145Of my young Play-fellow.
146Her. Grace to boot:
148Your Queene and I are Deuils: yet goe on,
151You did continue fault; and that you slipt not
152With any, but with vs.
153Leo. Is he woon yet?
157To better purpose.
158Her. Neuer?
159Leo. Neuer, but once.
161I prethee tell me: cram's with prayse, and make's
162As fat as tame things: One good deed, dying tonguelesse,
163Slaughters a thousand, wayting vpon that.
164Our prayses are our Wages. You may ride's
166With Spur we heat an Acre. But to th' Goale:
169Or I mistake you: O, would her Name were Grace.
171Nay, let me haue't: I long.
172Leo. Why, that was when
174Ere I could make thee open thy white Hand:
176I am yours for euer.
177Her. 'Tis Grace indeed.
179The one, for euer earn'd a Royall Husband;
180Th' other, for some while a Friend.
181Leo. Too hot, too hot:
182To mingle friendship farre, is mingling bloods.
183I haue Tremor Cordis on me: my heart daunces,
184But not for ioy; not ioy. This Entertainment
185May a free face put on: deriue a Libertie
187And well become the Agent: 't may; I graunt:
188But to be padling Palmes, and pinching Fingers,
189As now they are, and making practis'd Smiles
191The Mort o'th' Deere: oh, that is entertainment
192My Bosome likes not, nor my Browes. Mamillius,
193Art thou my Boy?
194Mam. I, my good Lord.
195Leo. I'fecks:
197They say it is a Coppy out of mine. Come Captaine,
198We must be neat; not neat, but cleanly, Captaine:
199And yet the Steere, the Heycfer, and the Calfe,
200Are all call'd Neat. Still Virginalling
201Vpon his Palme? How now (you wanton Calfe)
202Art thou my Calfe?
203Mam. Yes, if you will (my Lord.)
205To be full, like me: yet they say we are
208As o're-dy'd Blacks, as Wind, as Waters; false
210No borne 'twixt his and mine; yet were it true,
211To say this Boy were like me. Come (Sir Page)
212Looke on me with your Welkin eye: sweet Villaine,
216Communicat'st with Dreames (how can this be?)
217With what's vnreall: thou coactiue art,
218And fellow'st nothing. Then 'tis very credent,
221(And that to the infection of my Braines,
222And hardning of my Browes.)
223Pol. What meanes Sicilia?
225Pol. How? my Lord?
228Are you mou'd (my Lord?)
230How sometimes Nature will betray it's folly?
232To harder bosomes? Looking on the Lynes
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