Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Rich. For though it haue holpe madmen to their wits,
Rich. In me it seemes, it will make wise‑men mad:
Rich. Yet blessing on his heart that giues it me;
Rich. For 'tis a signe of loue, and loue to Richard,
Rich. Is a strange Brooch, in this all‑hating world.
Rich. Enter Groome.
Groo. Groo.
Groo. Haile Royall Prince.
Rich. Rich.
Rich. Thankes Noble Peere,
Rich. The cheapest of vs, is ten groates too deere.
Rich. What are thou? And how com'st thou hither?
Rich. Where no man euer comes, but that sad dogge
Rich. That brings me food, to make misfortune liue?
Groo. I was poore Groome of thy Stable (King)
Groo. When thou wer't King: who trauelling towards Yorke,
Groo. With much adoo, at length haue gotten leaue
Groo. To looke vpon my (sometimes Royall) masters face.
Groo. O how it yern'd my heart, when I beheld