Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Gaunt. Gaunt.
Gaunt. I thanke my Liege, that in regard of me
Gaunt. He shortens foure years of my sonnes exile:
Gaunt. But little vantage shall I reape thereby.
Gaunt. For ere the sixe yeares that he hath to spend
Gaunt. Can change their Moones, and bring their times about,
Gaunt. My oyle‑dride Lampe, and time‑bewasted light
Gaunt. Shall be extinct with age, and endlesse night:
Gaunt. My inch of Taper, will be burnt, and done,
Gaunt. And blindfold death, not let me see my sonne.
Rich. Rich.
Rich. Why Vncle, thou hast many yeeres to liue.
Gaunt. But not a minute (King) that thou canst giue;
Gaunt. Shorten my dayes thou canst with sudden sorow,
Gaunt. And plucke nights from me, but not lend a morrow:
Gaunt. Thou canst helpe time to furrow me with age,
Gaunt. But stop no wrinkle in his pilgrimage:
Gaunt. Thy word is currant with him, for my death,
Gaunt. But dead, thy kingdome cannot buy my breath.