Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Dut. Dut.
Dut. Ah so much interest haue in thy sorrow,
Dut. As I had Title in thy Noble Husband:
Dut. I haue bewept a worthy Husbands death,
Dut. And liu'd with looking on his Images:
Dut. But now two Mirrors of his Princely semblance,
Dut. Are crack'd in pieces, by malignant death,
Dut. And I for comfort, haue but one false Glasse,
Dut. That greeues me, when I see my shame in him.
Dut. Thou art a Widdow: yet thou art a Mother,
Dut. And hast the comfort of thy Children left,
Dut. But death hath snatch'd my Husband from mine Armes,
Dut. And pluckt two Crutches from my feeble hands,
Dut. Clarence, and Edward. O, what cause haue I,
Dut. (Thine being but a moity of my moane)
Dut. To ouer‑go thy woes, and drowne thy cries.
Boy. Boy.
Boy. Ah Aunt! you wept not for our Fathers death:
Boy. How can we ayde you with our Kindred teares?
Daugh. Daugh.