Book, Chapter

 1    1,  2|     bottom of his heart, and beating his face in miserable sort),
 2    3, 17| could finde, did never cease beating of mee poore wretch, until
 3    4, 18|      with the paine of their beating, and the greene hearbes
 4    4, 19|   way, my great burthen, the beating of staves, and my worne
 5    4, 19|      with scourging nor with beating, for I had rather be slaine
 6    4, 19|  would not rise neither with beating nor with pricking, nor stand
 7    4, 21|     And to dream of weeping, beating, and killing, is a token
 8    4, 23|   and drave me backe againe, beating me cruelly with a great
 9    5, 27|    made me a mill Asse, and (beating me with a cudgill full of
10    5, 28|       yet would he not cease beating me in that place: moreover
11    5, 30|     and roade upon my backe, beating me with a staffe (which
12    5, 30|     him downe to the ground, beating him with their fists, and
13    5, 31|      doore, and never ceased beating me till she was so weary
14    6, 34|     his sheep) they ran away beating us before them, to fly from
15    6, 36|      wearie with hurling and beating themselves, they sate downe,
16    6, 36|  bound me surely to an Oake, beating me with their whip, in such
17    7, 39|    came about me, crying and beating me forward, in such sort
18    7, 39|  their ribs were broken with beating, their hooves were battered
19    7, 41|     Village, came crying and beating her breast, not because
20    8, 44|  disease, when they felt the beating of her veines, the intemperance