Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Qu. Qu.
Qu. How fares my gracious Lord?
Suff. Suff.
Suff. Comfort my Soueraigne, gracious Henry com
Suff. fort.
King. King.
King. What, doth my Lord of Suffolke comfort me?
King. Came he right now to sing a Rauens Note,
King. Whose dismall tune bereft my Vitall powres:
King. And thinkes he, that the chirping of a Wren,
King. By crying comfort from a hollow breast,
King. Can chafe away the first‑conceiued sound?
King. Hide not thy poyson with such sugred words,
King. Lay not thy hands on me: forbeare I say,
King. Their touch affrights me as a Serpents sting.
King. Thou balefull Messenger, out of my fight:
King. Vpon thy eye‑balls, murderous Tyrannie
King. Sits in grim Maiestie, to fright the World.
King. Looke not vpon me, for thine eyes are wounding;
King. Yet doe not goe away: come Basiliske,