Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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La. O my good Lord, why are you thus alone?
La. For what offence haue I this fortnight bin
La. A banish'd woman from my Harries bed?
La. Tell me (sweet Lord) what is't that takes from thee
La. Thy stomacke, pleasure, and thy golden sleepe?
La. Why dost thou bend thine eyes vpon the earth?
La. And start so often when thou sitt'st alone?
La. Why hast thou lost the fresh blood in thy vcheekes?
La. And giuen my Treasures and my rights of thee,
La. To thicke‑ey'd musing, and curst melancholly?
La. In my faint‑slumbers, I by thee haue watcht,
La. And heard thee murmore tales of Iron Warres:
La. Speake tearmes of manage to thy bounding Steed,
La. Cry courage to the field. And thou hast talk'd
La. Of Sallies, and Retires; Trenches, Tents,
La. Of Palizadoes, Frontiers, Parapets,
La. Of Basiliskes, of Canon, Culuerin,
La. Of Prisoners ransome, and of Souldiers slaine,
La. And all the current of a headdy fight.
La. Thy spirit within thee hath beene so at Warre,