Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Pem. And I do fearefully beleeue 'tis done,
Pem. What we so fear'd he had a charge to do.
Sal. Sal.
Sal. The colour of the King doth come, and go
Sal. Betweene his purpose and his conscience,
Sal. Like Heralds 'twixt two dreadfull battailes set:
Sal. His passion is so ripe, it needs must breake.
Pem. Pem.
Pem. And when it breakes, I feare will issue thence
Pem. The foule corruption of a sweet childes death.
Iohn. Iohn.
Iohn. We cannot hold mortalities strong hand.
Iohn. Good Lords, although my will to giue, is liuing,
Iohn. The suite which you demand is gone, and dead.
Iohn. He tels vs Arthur is deceas'd to night.
Sal. Indeed we fear'd his sicknesse was past cure.
Pem. Indeed we heard how neere his death he was,
Pem. Before the childe himselfe felt he was sicke: