Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Q. M. Why then giue way dull Clouds to my quick Curses.
Q. M. Though not by Warre, by Surfet dye your King,
Q. M. As ours by Murther, to make him a King.
Q. M. Edward thy Sonne, that now is Prince of Wales,
Q. M. For Edward our Sonne, that was Prince of Wales,
Q. M. Dye in his youth, by like vntimely violence.
Q. M. Thy selfe a Queene, for me that was a Queene,
Q. M. Out‑liue thy glory, like my wretched selfe:
Q. M. Long may'st thou liue, to wayle thy Childrens death,
Q. M. And see another, as I see thee now,
Q. M. Deck'd in thy Rights, as thou art stall'd in mine.
Q. M. Long dye thy happie dayes, before thy death,
Q. M. And after many length'ned howres of griefe,
Q. M. Dye neyther Mother, Wife, nor Englands Queene.
Q. M. Riuers and Dorset, you were standers by,
Q. M. And so wast thou, Lord Hastings, when my Sonne
Q. M. Was stab'd with bloody Daggers: God, I pray him,
Q. M. That none of you may liue his naturall age,
Q. M. But by some vnlook'd accident cut off.
Rich. Rich.