Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Clot. Hearke, hearke, the Larke at Heauens gate sings,
Clot. and Phœbus gins arise,
Clot. His Steeds to water at those Springs
Clot. on chalic'd Flowres that lyes:
Clot. And winking Mary‑buds begin to ope their Golden eyes
Clot. With euery thing that pretty is, my Lady sweet arise:
Clot. Arise, arise.
Clot. So, get you gone: if this pentrate, I will consider your
Clot. Musicke the better: if it do not, it is a voyce in her eares
Clot. which Horse‑haires, and Calues‑guts, nor the voyce of
Clot. vnpaued Eunuch to boot, can neuer amed.
Clot. Enter Cymbaline, and Queene.
2 2
2 Heere comes the King.
Clot. Clot.
Clot. I am glad I was vp so late, for that's the reason
Clot. I was vp fo so earely: he cannot choose but take this Ser
Clot. uice I haue done, fatherly. Good morrow to your Ma
Clot. iesty, and to my gracious Mother.
Cym. Cym.