The Winter's Tale by William Shakespeare
page 79 of 136 (58%)
page 79 of 136 (58%)
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That neuer meane to part
Perd. Ile sweare for 'em Pol. This is the prettiest Low-borne Lasse, that euer Ran on the greene-sord: Nothing she do's, or seemes But smackes of something greater then her selfe, Too Noble for this place Cam. He tels her something That makes her blood looke on't: Good sooth she is The Queene of Curds and Creame Clo. Come on: strike vp Dorcas. Mopsa must be your Mistris: marry Garlick to mend her kissing with Mop. Now in good time Clo. Not a word, a word, we stand vpon our manners, Come, strike vp. Heere a Daunce of Shepheards and Shephearddesses. Pol. Pray good Shepheard, what faire Swaine is this, Which dances with your daughter? Shep. They call him Doricles, and boasts himselfe To haue a worthy Feeding; but I haue it Vpon his owne report, and I beleeue it: |
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