Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
War. War.
War. 'Tis One a Clock, and past.
King. King.
King. Why then good‑morrow to you all (my Lords:)
King. Haue you read o're the Letters that I sent you?
War. We haue (my Liege.)
King. Then you perceiue the Body of our Kingdome,
King. How foule it is: what ranke Diseases grow,
King. And with what danger, neere the Heart of it?
War. It is but as a Body, yet distemper'd,
War. Which to his former strength may be restor'd,
War. With good aduice, and little Medicine:
War. My Lord Northumberland will soone be cool'd.
King. Oh Heauen, that one might read the Book of Fate,
King. And see the reuolution of the Times
King. Make Mountaines leuell, and the Continent