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Would give preceptial med’cine to rage,

Fetter strong madness in a silken thread,

Charm ache with air, and agony with words.

No, no, ’tis all men’s office to speak patience

To those that wring under the load of sorrow,

But no man’s virtue nor sufficiency

To be so moral when he shall endure

The like himself. Therefore give me no counsel,

My griefs cry louder than advertisement.

Ant.

Therein do men from children nothing differ.

Leon.

I pray thee peace. I will be flesh and blood,

For there was never yet philosopher

That could endure the toothache patiently,

However they have writ the style of gods,

And made a push at chance and sufferance.

Ant.

Yet bend not all the harm upon yourself;

Make those that do offend you suffer too.

Leon.

There thou speak’st reason; nay, I will do so.

My soul doth tell me Hero is belied,

And that shall Claudio know; so shall the Prince,

And all of them that thus dishonor her.

Enter Prince [Don Pedro] and Claudio.

Ant.

Here comes the Prince and Claudio hastily.

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