All of Shakespeare’s plays.
Be comforted, good madam: the great rage,
You see, is kill'd in him: and yet it is danger
To make him even o'er the time he has lost.
Desire him to go in; trouble him no more
Till further settling.
He's scarce awake: let him alone awhile.
Madam, do you; 'tis fittest.
Please you, draw near. Louder the music there!
Be by, good madam, when we do awake him;
I doubt not of his temperance.
So please your majesty
That we may wake the king: he hath slept long.
Madam, sleeps still.
There is means, madam:
Our foster-nurse of nature is repose,
The which he lacks; that to provoke in him,
Are many simples operative, whose power
Will close the eye of anguish.
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