Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
War. Not so much noyse (my Lords)
War. Sweet Prince speake lowe.
War. The King, your Father, is dispos'd to sleepe.
Clar. Clar.
Clar. Let vs with‑draw into the other Roome.
War. War.
War. Wil't please your Grace to goe along with vs?
P. Hen. P. Hen.
P. Hen. No: I will sit, and watch here by the King.
P. Hen. Why doth the Crowne lye there, vpon his Pillow,
P. Hen. Being so troublesome a Bed‑fellow?
P. Hen. O pollish'd Perturbation! Golden Care!
P. Hen. That keep'st the Ports of Slumber open wide,
P. Hen. To many watchfull Night: sleepe with it now,
P. Hen. Yet not so sound, and halfe so deepely sweete,
P. Hen. As hee whose Brow (with homely Biggen bound)
P. Hen. Snores out Watch of Night. O Maiestie!
P. Hen. When thou do'st pinch thy Bearer, thou do'st sit:
P. Hen. Like a rich Armor, worne in heat of day,
P. Hen. That scald'st with safetie: by his Gates of breath,