Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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King. As doth thy face through teares of mine giue light:
King. Thou shin'st in euery teare that I doe weepe,
King. No drop, but as a Coach doth carry thee:
King. So ridest thou triumphing in my woe.
King. Do but behold the teares that swell in me,
King. And they thy glory through my griefe will show:
King. But
King. Loues Labour's lost.
King. But doe not loue thy selfe, then thou wilt keepe
King. My teares for glasses, and still make me weepe.
King. O Queene of Queenes, how farre dost thou excell,
King. No thought can thinke, nor tongue of mortall tell.
King. How shall she know my griefes? Ile drop the paper.
King. Sweete leaues shade folly. Who is he comes heere?
King. Enter Longauile.
King. The King steps aside.
King. What Longauill, and reading: listen eare.
Ber. Ber.
Ber. Now in thy likenesse, one more foole appeare.
Long. Long.