Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Con. Stuffes out his vacant garments with his forme;
Con. Then, haue I reason to be fond of griefe?
Con. Fareyouwell: had you such a losse as I,
Con. I could giue better comfort then you doe.
Con. I will not keepe this forme vpon my head,
Con. When there is such disorder in my witte:
Con. O Lord, my boy, my Arthur, my faire sonne,
Con. My life, my ioy, my food, my all the world:
Con. My widow‑comfort, and my sorrowes cure.
Con. Exit.
Fra. Fra.
Fra. I feare some out‑rage, and Ile follow her.
Fra. Exit.
Dol. Dol.
Dol. There's nothing in this world can make me ioy,
Dol. Life is as tedious as a twice‑told tale,
Dol. Vexing the dull care of a drowsie man;
Dol. And bitter shame hath spoyl'd the sweet words taste,
Dol. That it yeelds nought but shame and bitternesse.
Pand. Pand.