[But shorten] thy life one week. And them, fresh piece
Of excellent witchcraft, [who] of force must know
The royal fool them [copest with],—
[Shep.] O, my heart!
Pol. I'll have thy beauty scratch'd with briers, and made
More homely than thy state. For thee, [fond] boy,
If I may ever know them dost but sigh
That them no more [shalt] see this knack, as never
I mean thou shalt, we'll bar thee from succession;
Not hold thee of our blood, no, not our kin,