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Section 415
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Qu.
To make an act of Tragicke violence.
Edward my Lord, thy Sonne, our King is dead.
Why grow the Branches, when the Roote is gone?
Why wither not the leaues that want their sap?
If you will liue, Lament: if dye, be breefe,
That our swift‑winged Soules may catch the Kings,
Or like obedient Subiects follow him,
To his new Kingdome of nere‑changing night.