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A cold sweat pearld in dropps all ore my body; For 'twas my Brothers voice, & were I calld Before a thousand Judges I must sweare It could be no mans els. Buz. Why, then, I must sweare so, too. Hen. "Oh it was I that murthered him! this hand killed him!" Hen. He's up. Buz. I come. Hen. Helpe to make him ready, but not a word on thy life. Buz. Hen. So let it worke; thus far my wheeles goe true.
Butt theire are times whenn my harte is sore and heavy; and the rane beeting agenst the winder semes lik dropps of cold worter falling uponn my pore aking harte. If you cou'd stele a visitt you wou'd see wether she semes worse than whenn you sor her last ortumm; she is trieing ye tansy tea; and beggs her service to you, and greatfull thanks for y'r rememberence of her.
I ha' don't already. To whom? Pike. To one who is in better place And greater power then you to cure my sicke Infected part, though maladies as infinite As the sea sands, the grassy spears on earth, Or as the dropps of raine & stars in the firmament Stucke on me he can cleare all, cleanse me throughly. You will not then confesse? Pike. No, I confesse I will not.
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