Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Ser. Ser.
Ser. O Sir, I shall be hated to report it.
Ser. The Prince your Sonne, with meere conceit, and feare
Ser. Of the Queenes speed, is gone.
Leo. Leo.
Leo. How? gone?
Ser. Is dead.
Leo. Apollo’s angry, and the Heauens themselues,
Leo. Doe strike at my Iniustice. How now there?
Paul. Paul.
Paul. This newes is mortall to the Queene: Look downe
Paul. And see what Death is doing.
Leo. Take her hence:
Leo. Her heart is but o’re‑charg’d: she will recouer.
Leo. I haue too much beleeu’d mine owne suspition:
Leo. 'Beseech you tenderly apply to her
Leo. Some remedies for life. Apollo pardon