King. If this, or more than this, I would deny,
[802] To flatter up these powers of mine with rest,
The sudden hand of death close up mine eye!
[804] Hence ever then my heart is in thy breast.
[805] Biron. And what to me, my love? and what to me?
[806] Ros. You must be purged too, your sins are rack’d,
[807] You are attaint with faults and perjury:
Therefore if you my favour mean to get,
A twelvemonth shall you spend, and never rest,
810 But seek the weary beds of people sick.