Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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2. Man. 2. Man.
2. Man. Oh this is it that makes your seruants droop.
Lord. Lord.
Lord. Hence comes it, that your kindred shuns your (house
Lord. As beaten hence by your strange Lunacie.
Lord. Oh Noble Lord, bethinke thee of thy birth,
Lord. Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment,
Lord. And banish hence these abiect lowlie dreames:
Lord. Looke how thy seruants do attend on thee,
Lord. Each in his office readie at thy becke.
Lord. Wilt thou haue Musicke? Harke Apollo plaies,
Lord. Musick
Lord. And twentie caged Nightingales do sing.
Lord. Or wilt thou sleepe? Wee'l haue thee to a Couch,
Lord. Softer and sweeter then the lustfull bed
Lord. On purpose trim'd vp for Semiramis.
Lord. Say thou wilt walke: we wil bestrow the ground.
Lord. Or wilt thou ride? Thy horses shal be trap'd,
Lord. Their harnesse studded all with Gold and Pearle.
Lord. Dost thou loue hawking? Thou hast hawkes will soare