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Cym. Nursing of my Sonnes? Bel. I am too blunt, and sawcy: heere's my knee: Ere I arise, I will preferre my Sonnes, Then spare not the old Father. Mighty Sir, These two young Gentlemen that call me Father, And thinke they are my Sonnes, are none of mine, They are the yssue of your Loynes, my Liege, And blood of your begetting