Suffolke. Comfort my Lord, gratious Henry comfort.
Kin. What doth my Lord of Suffolk bid me comfort?
Came he euen now to sing a Rauens note,
And thinkes he that the cherping of a Wren,
By crying comfort through a hollow voice,
[♦] Can satisfie my griefes, or ease my heart:
[25] Thou balefull messenger out of my sight,
[♦] For euen in thine eye-bals murther sits,
[♦] Yet do not goe. Come Basaliske
[♦] And kill the silly gazer with thy lookes.