Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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King. King.
King. And wherefore should these good newes
King. Make me sicke?
King. Will Fortune neuer come with both hands full,
King. But write her faire words still in foulest Letters?
King. Shee eyther giues a stomack, and no Foode,
King. (Such are the poore, in health) or else a Feast
King. And takes away the stomack (such are the Rich
King. That haue aboundance, and enioy it not.)
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.