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Book, page 151 / 155 MESSENGER. Hold, hold! O hold, hold, hold! [Enter Pirithous in haste.] PERITHOUS. Hold! hoa! It is a cursed hast you made, If you have done so quickly. Noble Palamon, The gods will shew their glory in a life, That thou art yet to leade. PALAMON. Can that be, When Venus, I have said, is false? How doe things fare? PERITHOUS. Arise, great Sir, and give the tydings eare That are most dearly sweet and bitter. PALAMON. What Hath wakt us from our dreame? PERITHOUS. List then: your Cosen, Mounted upon a Steed that Emily Did first bestow on him, a blacke one, owing Not a hayre worth of white--which some will say Weakens his price, and many will not buy His goodnesse with this note: Which superstition Heere findes allowance--On this horse is Arcite Trotting the stones of Athens, which the Calkins Did rather tell then trample; for the horse Would make his length a mile, if't pleas'd his Rider
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