Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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King. How foule it is: what ranke Diseases grow,
King. And with what danger, neere the Heart of it?
War. War.
War. It is but as a Body, yet distemper'd,
War. Which to his former strength may be restor'd,
War. With good aduice, and little Medicine:
War. My Lord Northumberland will soone be cool'd.
King. King.
King. Oh Heauen, that one might read the Book of Fate,
King. And see the reuolution of the Times
King. Make Mountaines leuell, and the Continent
King. (Wearie of solide firmenesse) melt it selfe
King. Into the Sea: and other Times, to see
King. The beachie Girdle of the Ocean
King. Too wide for Neptunes hippes; how Chances mocks
King. And Changes fill the Cuppe of Alteration
King. With diuers Liquors. 'Tis not tenne yeeres gone,
King. Since Richard, and Northumberland, great friends,
King. Did feast together; and in two yeeres after,
King. Were they at Warres. It is but eight yeeres since,