Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Ch. Iust. Ile to the King (my Master) that is dead,
Ch. Iust. And tell him, who hath sent me after him.
War. War.
War. Heere comes the Prince.
War. Enter Prince Henrie.
Ch. Iust. Ch. Iust.
Ch. Iust. Good morrow: and heauen saue your Maiesty
Prince. Prince.
Prince. This new, and gorgeous Garment, Maiesty,
Prince. Sits not so easie on me, as you thinke.
Prince. Brothers, you mixe your Sadnesse with some Feare:
Prince. This is the English, not the Turkish Court:
Prince. Not Amurah, an Amurah succeeds,
Prince. But Harry, Harry: Yet be sad (good Brothers)
Prince. For (to speake truth) it very well becomes you:
Prince. Sorrow, so Royally in you appeares,
Prince. That I will deeply put the Fashion on,
Prince. And weare it in my heart. Why then be sad,
Prince. But entertaine no more of it (good Brothers)
Prince. Then a ioynt burthen, laid vpon vs all.