Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Fri. Your part in her, you could not keepe from death,
Fri. But heauen keepes his part in eternall life:
Fri. The most you sought was her promotion,
Fri. For 'twas your heauen, she shouldst be aduan'st,
Fri. And weepe ye now, seeing she is aduan'st
Fri. Aboue the Cloudes, as high as Heauen it selfe?
Fri. O in this loue, you loue your Child so ill,
Fri. That you run mad, seeing that she is well:
Fri. Shee's not well married, that liues married long,
Fri. But shee's best married, that dies married yong.
Fri. Drie vp your teares, and sticke your Rosemarie
Fri. On this faire Coarse, and as the custome is,
Fri. And in her best array beare her to Church:
Fri. For though some Nature bids all vs lament,
Fri. Yet Natures teares are Reasons merriment.
Fa. Fa.
Fa. All things that we ordained Festiuall,
Fa. Turne from their office to blacke Funerall:
Fa. Our instruments to melancholy Bells,
Fa. Our wedding cheare, to a sad buriall Feast: