Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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King. No more can feele, but his owne wringing.
King. What infinite hearts-ease must Kings neglect,
King. That priuate men enioy?
King. And what haue Kings, that Priuates haue not too,
King. Saue Ceremonie, saue generall Ceremonie?
King. And what art thou, thou Idoll Ceremonie?
King. What kind of God art thou? that suffer'st more
King. Of mortall griefes, then doe thy worshippers.
King. What are thy Rents? what are thy Commings in?
King. O Ceremonie, shew me but thy worth.
King. What? is thy Soule of Odoration?
King. Art thou ought else but Place, Degree, and Forme,
King. Creating awe and feare in other men?
King. Wherein thou art lesse happy, being fear'd,
King. Then they in fearing.
King. What drink'st thou oft, in stead of Homage sweet,
King. But poyson'd flatterie? O, be sick, great Greatnesse,
King. And bid thy Ceremonie giue thee cure.
King. Thinks thou the fierie Feuer will goe out
King. With Titles blowne from Adulation?