Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Glou. Glou.
Glou. Alacke, I haue no eyes:
Glou. Is wretchednesse depriu'd that benefit
Glou. To end it selfe by death? 'Twas yet some comfort,
Glou. When misery could beguile the Tyrants rage,
Glou. And frustrate his proud will.
Edg. Edg.
Edg. Giue me your arme.
Edg. Vp, so: How is't? Feele you your Legges? You stand.
Glou. Too well, too well.
Edg. This is aboue all strangenesse,
Edg. Vpon the crowne o'th' Cliffe. What thing was that
Edg. Which parted from you?
Glou. A poore vnfortunate Beggar.
Edg. As I stood heere below, me thought his eyes
Edg. Were two full Moones: he had a thousand Noses,