Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Duke. We lack't your Counsaile, and your helpe to night.
Bra. Bra.
Bra. So did I yours: Good your Grace pardon me.
Bra. Neither my place, hor ought I heard of businesse
Bra. Hath rais'd me from my bed; nor doth the generall care
Bra. Take hold on me. For my perticular griefe
Bra. Is of so flood‑gate, and ore‑bearing Nature,
Bra. That it engluts, and swallowether sorrowes,
Bra. And it is still it selfe.
Duke. Duke.
Duke. Why? What's the matter?
Bra. My Daughter: oh my Daughter!
Sen. Sen.
Sen. Dead?
Bra. I, to me.
Bra. She is abus'd, stolne from me, and corrupted
Bra. By Spels, and Medicines, bought of Mountebanks;
Bra. For Nature, so prepostrously to erre,