1 Sit you down, father; rest you.
2 Now, good my lord, lie here and rest awhile.
3 I lov'd her most, and thought to set my rest On her kind nursery.
4 Do as I bid thee, or rather do thy pleasure; Above the rest, be gone.
5 Tis his own blame; hath put himself from rest And must needs taste his folly.
6 Pray do not, sir: I have watch'd, and travell'd hard; Some time I shall sleep out, the rest I'll whistle.
7 This rest might yet have balm'd thy broken sinews, Which, if convenience will not allow, Stand in hard cure.
8 Now a little fire in a wild field were like an old lecher's heart, a small spark, all the rest on's body cold.
9 Only we shall retain The name, and all the addition to a king; the sway, Revenue, execution of the rest, Beloved sons, be yours; which to confirm, This coronet part between you.
10 Back do I toss those treasons to thy head, With the hell-hated lie o'erwhelm thy heart; Which for they yet glance by and scarcely bruise, This sword of mine shall give them instant way, Where they shall rest for ever.