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I should be as merry as the day is long;
Hub. If I talk to him, with his innocent prate
Arth. Are you sick, Hubert ? you look pale to
In sooth, I would you were a little sick;
Hub. His words do take possession of my bosom.Read here, young Arthur [Shewing a Paper How now, foolish rheum !
[ Aside. Turning dispiteous torture out of door? I must be brief ; lest resolution drop Out at mine eyes, in tender womanish tears.Can you not read it? is it not fair writ?
Arth. Too fairly, Hubert, for so foul effect : Must you with hot irons burn out both mine eyes ?
Hub. Young boy, I must.
London Printed for J. Bell British Library Sırand June 9th 1786.