Still and anon cheer'd up the heavy time;
Saying, what lack you and, where lies your grief?
i King Jobn, A. 4, S. 1.
Grief fills the room up of my absent child
Lies in his bed, walks up and down with me;
Puts on his pretty looks, repeats his words,
Remembers me of all his gracious parts,
Stuffs out his vacant garments with his form;
Then, have I reason to be fond of grief.
: King John, A. 3, S.
Preach some philosophy to make me mad,
And thou shalt be canoniz'd cardinal;
For, being not mad, but sensible of grief,
My reasonable part produces reason
How I may be deliver'd of these woes.
King John, A. 3, S. 4:
I am not mad ;-I would to heaven, I were !
For then 'tis like I should forget myself :
Oh, if I could, what grief should I forget!
King John, A. 3, S. 4e?
My grief's so great,
That no supporter but the huge firm earth
Can hold it up : here I and sorrows fit;
Here is my throne, bid kings come bow to it.
King John, A. 3, S. 1.
I will instruct my forrows to be proud :
For grief is proud, and makes his owner stout;
To me, and to the state of my great grief,
Let kings assemble. King John, A. 3, S. 1.
'Tis better to be lowly born, And range with humble livers in content, Than to be perk'd up in a glistering grief, And wear a golden sorrow. Henry VIII. A. 2, S. 3, These eyes-like lamps whose wasting oil is spent, Wax dim, as drawing to their exigent: Weak shoulders, over-borne with burthening grief,