Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Glost. Thus sometimes hath the brightest day a Cloud:
Glost. And after Summer, euermore succeedes
Glost. Barren Winter, with his wrathfull nipping Cold;
Glost. So Cares and Ioyes abound, as Seasons fleet.
Glost. Sirs, what's a Clock?
Seru. Seru.
Seru. Tenne, my Lord.
Glost. Glost.
Glost. Tenne is the houre that was appointed me,
Glost. To watch the comming of my punisht Duchesse:
Glost. Vnneath may shee endure the Flintie Streets,
Glost. To treade them with her tender‑feeling feet.
Glost. Sweet Nell, ill can thy Noble Minde abrooke
Glost. The abiect People, gazing on thy face,
Glost. With enuious Lookes laughing at thy shame,
Glost. That erst did follow thy prowd Chariot‑Wheeles,
Glost. When thou didst ride in triumph through the streets.
Glost. But soft, I thinke she comes, and Ile prepare
Glost. My teare‑stayn'd eyes, to see her Miseries.
Glost. Enter the Duchesse in a white Sheet, and a Taper