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Yes, th'are ships; I know 'em by their foule linen; now I see them plainely; they come, they come, they come! Hen. How far off? Ten. Speake, sirra. Buz. If you would peace I might heare what they say; the wind serves to bring every word they speake: they make towards, yes, towards this Citty.
How now, why is this laughter? Fer. One of the soldiers, being merry among themselves, is somewhat bold with th'English, and sayes th'are dainty Hennes. Mac. Sirra, view well these soldiers, And freely telle us, thinke you these will prove Such hens as are your English, when next yeare They land in your owne Country. Pike. I thinke they will not, My lord, prove hens, but somewhat neere to hens.
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