Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Gaunt. Shorten my dayes thou canst with sudden sorow,
Gaunt. And plucke nights from me, but not lend a morrow:
Gaunt. Thou canst helpe time to furrow me with age,
Gaunt. But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage:
Gaunt. Thy word is currant with him, for my death,
Gaunt. But dead, thy kingdome cannot buy my breath.
Ric. Ric.
Ric. Thy sonne is banish'd vpon good aduice,
Ric. Where to thy tongue a party‑verdict gaue,
Ric. Why at our Iustice seem'st thou then to lowre?
Gau. Gau.
Gau. Things sweet to tast, proue in digestion sowre:
Gau. You vrg'd me as a Iudge, but I had rather
Gau. you would haue bid me argue like a Father.
Gau. Alas, I look'd when some of you should say,
Gau. I was too strict to make mine owne away:
Gau. But you gaue leaue to my vnwilling tong,
Gau. Against my will, to do my selfe this wrong.
Rich. Rich.
Rich. Cosine farewell: and Vncle bid him so: