Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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King. Canst thou (O partiall Sleepe) giue thy Repose
King. To the wet Sea‑Boy, in an houre so rude:
King. And in the calmest, and most stillest Night,
King. With all appliances, and meanes to boote,
King. Deny it to a King? Then happy Lowe, lye downe,
King. Vneasie lyes the Head, that weares a Crowne.
King. Enter Warwicke and Surrey.
War. War.
War. Many good‑morrowes to your Maiestie.
King. King.
King. Is it good‑morrow, Lords?
War. 'Tis One a Clock, and past.
King. Why then good‑morrow to you all (my Lords:)
King. Haue you read o're the Letters that I sent you?
War. We haue (my Liege.)
King. Then you perceiue the Body of our Kingdome,