Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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King. I should reioyce now, at this happy newes,
King. And now my Sight fayles, and my Braine is giddie.
King. O me, come neere me, now I am much ill.
Glo. Glo.
Glo. Comfort your Maiestie.
Cla. Cla.
Cla. Oh, my Royall Father.
West. West.
West. My Soueraigne Lord, cheare vp your selfe, looke
West. vp.
War. War.
War. Be patient (Princes) you doe know, these Fits
War. Are with his Highnesse very ordinarie.
War. Stand from him, giue him ayre:
War. Hee'le straight be well.
Clar. Clar.
Clar. No, no, hee cannot long hold out: these pangs,
Clar. Th'incessant care, and labour of his Minde,
Clar. Hath wrought the Mure, that should confine it in,
Clar. So thinne, that Life lookes through, and will breake out.