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Col. All the infections that the sun sucks up From bogs, fens, flats, on Prosper fall, and make him By inch-meal a disease! His spirits hear me, And yet I needs must curse.
Mira. If, by your art, my dearest father, you have Put the wild waters in this roar, allay them.
Act I, Scene II.
Ste. Come on your ways! open your mouth : here is that which will give language to you, cat ; open your mouth.
Act II. Scene II.
My sweet mistress Weeps, when she sees me work, and says, such baseness Had ne'er like executor.
Act III. Scene I.
Pro. Hey! Mountain ! hey!
Act IV. Scene I.
Pros. I'll break my staff,
Act V. Scene 1.