Fol. 21a |
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Actus Imus Scæna Ia. |
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Poore. |
Welcome thou instrument of liberty offreth to stab himselfe |
Sly |
Hold hold |
Poore: |
It is a most vnthankfull office; |
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To save a man vnwilling is to murder. |
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What hath this world of myne that I should covet |
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Longer to stay wth it? nor have you reason |
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Thus to detaine mee, I must greiving say it |
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Through mee you want what might have well sustaind you |
10 |
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And your last store scarce panteth nourishment |
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Vnto your selfe and sister. |
Sly |
How truely rich |
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Though having nothing, for contemning all? |
Poore. |
True very wise, nay rich, if hee could gett |
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Even wth his best indeauour nourishment: |
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But that now wants whose rich hees only wise |
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T'is the receaved opinion, and what arts |
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Are meanly shrouded in a thred bare coate |
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Want theire due forme, thats a privation of it. |
20 |
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The worst of ills that is in misery |
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Is that it gives a man contemptible |
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Makes him a scoffe to every painted asse |
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Wch beares a golden image, every slave |
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Wch came into this Cytty wth bare feete |
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And since hath heap'd vp by mechanicke basenes |
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Abundant riches will contem the state |
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That nature brought him to and no more pitty it, |
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Then wisedome will a snake pin'd wth much cold |
Sly: |
you much erre |
30 |
Poore. |
No it is sacred truth, there is not one |
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