Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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King. Should haue kept short, restrain'd, and out of haunt,
King. This mad yong man. But so much was our loue,
King. We would not vnderstand what was most fit,
King. But like the Owner of a foule disease,
King. To keepe it from divulging, let's it feede
King. Euen on the pith of life. Where is he gone?
Qu. Qu.
Qu. To draw apart the body he hath kild,
Qu. O're whom his very madnesse like some Oare
Qu. Among a Minerall of Mettels base
Qu. Shewes it selfe pure. He weepes for what is done.
King. King.
King. Oh Gertrude, come away:
King. The Sun no sooner shall the Mountaines touch,
King. But we will ship him hence, and this vilde deed,
King. We must with all our Maiesty and Skill
King. Both countenance, and excuse.
King. Enter Ros. & Guild.
King. Ho Guildenstern:
King. Friends both go ioyne you with some further ayde: