Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Lear. The Naturall Foole of Fortune. Vse me well,
Lear. You shall haue ransome. Let me haue Surgeons,
Lear. I am cut to'th' Braines.
Gent. Gent.
Gent. You shall haue any thing.
Lear. Lear.
Lear. No Seconds? All my selfe?
Lear. Why, this would make a man, a man of Salt
Lear. To vse his eyes for Garden water‐pots. I wil die brauely,
Lear. Like a smugge Bridegroome. What? I will be Iouiall:
Lear. Come, come, I am a King, Masters, know you that?
Gent. You are a Royall one, and we obey you.
Lear. Then there's life in't. Come, and you get it,
Lear. You shall get it by running: Sa, sa, sa, sa.
Lear. Exit.
Gent. A sight most pittifull in the meanest wretch,
Gent. Past speaking of in a King. Thou hast a Daughter