Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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P. Hen. There lyes a dowlney feather, which stirres not:
P. Hen. Did hee suspire, that light and weightlesse dowlne
P. Hen. Perforce must moue. My gracious Lord, my Father,
P. Hen. This sleepe is sound indeede: this is a sleepe,
P. Hen. That from this Golden Rigoll hath diuorc'd
P. Hen. So many English Kings. Thy due, from me,
P. Hen. Is Teares, and heauie sorrows of the Blood,
P. Hen. Which Nature, Loue, and filiall tendernesse,
P. Hen. Shall (O deare Father) pay thee plenteously.
P. Hen. My due, from thee, is this Imperiall Crowne,
P. Hen. Which (as immediate from thy Place and Blood)
P. Hen. Deriues it selfe to me. Loe, heere it sits,
P. Hen. Which Heauen shall guard:
P. Hen. And put the worlds whole strength into one gyant Arme,
P. Hen. It shall not force this Lineall Honor from me.
P. Hen. This for thee, will to mine leaue,
P. Hen. As 'tis left to me.
P. Hen. Exit.
P. Hen. Enter Warwick, Gloucester, Clarence.
King. King.