Direct reading · Original
Section 342
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Fal.
Reason, you roague, reason: thinkst thou Ile
en
danger my soule, gratis?
at a word, hang no more about
mee, I am no gibbet for you:
goe, a short knife, and a
throng, to your Mannor of Pickt‑hatch: goe, you'll not
beare a Letter for mee you roague? you stand vpon
your
honor: why, (thou vnconfinable basenesse) it is
as much
as I can doe to keepe the termes of my honor
precise:
I, I, I my selfe sometimes, leauing the feare of
heauen on