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| Iachimo
| Verse
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The crickets sing, and man's o'erlabour'd sense
| II ii 15
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Posthumus
| Verse
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Is there no way for men to be, but women
II v 4
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| Pisanio |
Verse |
How! of adultery! Wherefore write you not
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III ii 3
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Belarius
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Verse |
Now for our mountain sport. Up to yond hill;
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III III 14
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Belarius
intercut
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Verse |
How do you speak!
Did you but know the city's usuries
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III iii 49
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Cloten
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Prose |
I am near to the place where they should meet
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IV i 1
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Posthumus
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Verse |
Yea, bloody cloth, I'll keep thee, for I wish'd
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V i 1
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Posthumus
intercut
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Verse |
No blame be to you, sir; for all was lost,
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V iii 7
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Posthumus
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Verse |
Still going? - This is a lord! O noble misery!
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V iii
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Posthumus
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Verse |
Most welcome, bondage! for thou art away
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V iv 5
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Jupiter
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Verse |
No more you petty spirits of region low
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V iv 98
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Posthumus
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Verse |
Sleep, thou hast been a grandsire, and begot
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V iv 128
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Lucius
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Verse |
Consider, sir, the chance of war, the day
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V v 91
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Iachimo
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Verse |
Upon a time - unhappy was the clock
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V v 184
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Posthumus
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Verse |
Ay, so thou dost,
Italian fiend! Ay me, most credulous fool,
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V v 244
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Belarius
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Verse |
So sure as you your father's. I, old Morgan,
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V v 402
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