Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Mor. (The bloody Dowglas) whose well‑labouring sword
Mor. Had three times slaine th'appearance of the King,
Mor. Gan vaile his stomacke, and did grace the shame
Mor. Of those that turn'd their backes: and in his flight,
Mor. Stumbling in Feare, was tooke. The summe of all,
Mor. Is, that the King hath wonne: and hath sent out
Mor. A speedy power, to encounter you my Lord,
Mor. Vnder the Conduct of yong Lancaster
Mor. And Westmerland. This is the Newes at full.
North. North.
North. For this, I shall haue time enough to mourne.
North. In Poyson, there is Physicke: and this newes
North. (Having beene well) that would have made me sicke,
North. Being sicke, haue in some measure, made me well.
North. And as the Wretch, whose Feauer‑weakned ioynts,
North. Like strengthlesse Hindges, buckle vnder life,
North. Impatient of his Fit, breakes like a fire
North. Out of his keepers armes: Even so, my Limbes
North. (Weak'ned with greefe) beingnow inrag'd with greefe,
North. Are thrice themselves. Hence therefore thou nice crutch,