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Section 877
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Lear.
I, euery inch a King.
When I do stare, see how the Subiect quakes.
I pardon that mans life. What was thy cause?
Adultery? thou shalt not dye: dye for Adultery?
No, the Wren goes too't, and the small gilded Fly
Do's letcher in my sight. Let Copulation thriue:
For Glousters bastard Son was kinder to his
Father,
Then my Daughters got 'tweene the lawfull sheets.
Too't Luxury pell‐mell, for I lacke Souldiers.
Behold yond simpring Dame, whose face betweene her
Forkes
presages Snow; that minces Vertue, & do's shake
the head to heare of pleasures name. The Fitchew, nor
the soyled Horse goes too't with a more riotous