Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Rich. And tell sad stories of the death of Kings:
Rich. How some haue been depos'd, some slaine in warre,
Rich. Some haunted by the Ghosts they haue depos'd,
Rich. Some poyson'd by their Wiues, some sleeping kill'd,
Rich. All murther'd. For within the hollow Crowne
Rich. That rounds the mortall Temples of a King,
Rich. Keepes Death his Court, and there the Antique sits
Rich. Scoffing his State, and grinning at his Pompe,
Rich. Allowing him a breath, a little Scene,
Rich. To Monarchize, be fear'd, and kill with lookes,
Rich. Infusing him with selfe and vaine conceit,
Rich. As if this Flesh, which walls about our Life,
Rich. Were Brasse impregnable: and humor'd thus,
Rich. Comes at the last, and with a little Pinne
Rich. Bores though his Castle Walls, and farwell King.
Rich. Couer your heads, and mock not flesh and blood
Rich. With solemne Reuerence: throw away Respect,
Rich. Tradition, Forme, and Ceremonious dutie,
Rich. For you haue but mistooke me all this while:
Rich. I liue with Bread like you, feele Want,