Direct reading · Original
Section 358
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Rich.
Oh God, oh God, that ere this tongue of mine,
That layd the Sentence of dread Banishment
On yond prowd man, should take it off againe
With words of sooth: Oh that I were as great
As is my Griefe, or lesser then my Name,
Or that I could forget what I haue beene,
Or not remember what I must be now:
Swell'st thou prowd heart? Ile giue thee scope to beat,
Since Foes haue scope to beat both thee and me.