Cymbeline by William Shakespeare
page 24 of 159 (15%)
page 24 of 159 (15%)
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Cor. I do not like her. She doth thinke she ha's Strange ling'ring poysons: I do know her spirit, And will not trust one of her malice, with A drugge of such damn'd Nature. Those she ha's, Will stupifie and dull the Sense a-while, Which first (perchance) shee'l proue on Cats and Dogs, Then afterward vp higher: but there is No danger in what shew of death it makes, More then the locking vp the Spirits a time, To be more fresh, reuiuing. She is fool'd With a most false effect: and I, the truer, So to be false with her Qu. No further seruice, Doctor, Vntill I send for thee Cor. I humbly take my leaue. Enter. Qu. Weepes she still (saist thou?) Dost thou thinke in time She will not quench, and let instructions enter Where Folly now possesses? Do thou worke: When thou shalt bring me word she loues my Sonne, Ile tell thee on the instant, thou art then As great as is thy Master: Greater, for His Fortunes all lye speechlesse, and his name Is at last gaspe. Returne he cannot, nor Continue where he is: To shift his being, |
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