Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Rich. They shall be satisfy'd: Ile reade enough,
Rich. When I doe see the very Booke indeede,
Rich. Where all my sinnes are writ, and that's my selfe.
Rich. Enter one with a Glasse.
Rich. Giue me that Glasse, and therein will I reade.
Rich. No deeper wrinckles yet? hath Sorrow strucke
Rich. So may Blowes vpon this Face of mine,
Rich. And made no deeper Wounds? Oh flatt'ring Glasse,
Rich. Like to my followers in prosperitie,
Rich. Thou do'st beguile me. Was this Face, the Face
Rich. That euery day, vnder his House‑hold Roofe,
Rich. Did keepe ten thousand men? Was this the Face,
Rich. That like the Sunne, did make beholders winke?
Rich. Is this the Face, which fac'd so many follyes,
Rich. That was at last out‑fac'd by Bullingbrooke?
Rich. A brittle Glory shineth in this Face,
Rich. As brittle as the Glory, is the Face,
Rich. For there it is, crackt in an hundred shiuers.
Rich. Marke silent King, the Morall of this sport,
Rich. How soone my Sorrow hath destroy'd my Face.