Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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King. With sad unhelpefull teares, and with dimn'd eyes;
King. Looke after him, and cannot doe him good:
King. So mightie are his vowed Enemies.
King. His fortunes I will weepe, and 'twixt each groane,
King. Say, who's a Traytor? Gloster he is none.
King. Exit.
Queene. Queene.
Queene. Free Lords:
Queene. Cold Snow melts with the Sunnes hot Beames:
Queene. Henry, my Lord, is cold in great Affaires,
Queene. Too full of foolish pittie: and Glosters shew
Queene. Beguiles him, as the mournefull Crocodile
Queene. With sorrow snares relenting passengers;
Queene. Or as the Snake, roll'd in a flowring Banke,
Queene. With shining checker'd slough doth sting a Child,
Queene. That for the beautie thinkes it excellent.
Queene. Beleeue me Lords, were none more wise then I,
Queene. And yet herein I judge mine owne Wit good;
Queene. This Gloster should be quickly rid the World,
Queene. To rid vs from the feare we haue of him.