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Section 471
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War.
It cannot be (my Lord:)
Rumor doth double, like the Voice, and Eccho,
The numbers of the feared. Please it your Grace
To goe to bed, upon my Life (my Lord)
The Pow'rs that you alreadie have sent forth,
Shall bring this Prize in very easily.
To comfort you the more, I haue receiu'd
A certain instance, that Glendour is dead.
Your Maiestie hath beene this fort‑night ill,
And these unseason'd howres perforce must adde
Vnto your Sicknesse.