My rage is gone, And I am struck with sorrow. Take him up. Help, three o' th' chiefest soldiers; I'll be one. Beat thou the drum, that it speaks mournfully, Trail your steel spikes. Though in this city he Hath widowed and unchilded many a one, Which to this hour bewail the injury, Yet he shall have a noble memory. Assist.
William Shakespeare, John Payne Collier (1853). “The Works of Shakespeare: The Text Regulated by the Recently Discovered Portfolio of 1632, Containing Early Manuscript Emendations ; with a History of the Stage, a Life of the Poet, and an Introduction to Each Play”, p.202
