Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Con. Con.
Con. No, no, I will not, hauing breath to cry:
Con. O that my tongue were in the thunders mouth,
Con. Then with a passion would I shake the world,
Con. And rowze from sleepe that fell Anatomy
Con. Which cannot heare a Ladies feeble voyce,
Con. Which scornes a modern Inuocation.
Pand. Pand.
Pand. Lady, you vtter madnesse, and not sorrow.
Con. Thou art holy to belye me so,
Con. I am not mad: this haire I teare is mine,
Con. My name is Constance, I was Geffreyes wife,
Con. Yong Arthur is my sonne, and he is lost:
Con. I am not mad, I would to heauen I were,
Con. For then 'tis like I should forget my selfe:
Con. O, if I could, what griefe should I forget?
Con. Preach some Philosophy to make me mad,
Con. And thou shalt be Canoniz'd (Cardinall.)
Con. For, being not mad, but sensible of greefe,