Direct reading · Original
Section 40
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North.
For this, I shall haue time enough to mourne.
In Poyson, there is Physicke: and this newes
(Having beene well) that would have made me sicke,
Being sicke, haue in some measure, made me well.
And as the Wretch, whose Feauer‑weakned ioynts,
Like strengthlesse Hindges, buckle vnder life,
Impatient of his Fit, breakes like a fire
Out of his keepers armes: Even so, my Limbes
(Weak'ned with greefe) beingnow inrag'd with greefe,
Are thrice themselves. Hence therefore thou nice crutch,
A scalie Gauntlet now, with ioynts of Steele
Must gloue this hand. And hence thou sickly Quoife,
Thou art a guard too wanton for the head,
Which Princes, flesh'd with Conquest, ayme to hit.