Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
King. Find Natiue Graues: vpon the which, I trust
King. Shall witnesse liue in Brasse of this dayes worke.
King. And those that leaue their valiant bones in France,
King. Dying like men, though buryed in your Dunghills,
King. They shall be fam'd: for there the Sun shall greet them,
King. And draw their honors reeking vp to Heauen,
King. Leauing their earthly parts to choake your Clyme,
King. The smell whereof shall breed a Plague in France.
King. Marke then abounding valour in our English:
King. That being dead, like to the bullets crasing,
King. Breake out into a second course of mischiefe,
King. Killing in relapse of Mortalitie.
King. Let me speake prowdly: Tell the Constable,
King. We are but Warriors for the working day:
King. Our Gaynesse and our Gilt are all besmyrcht
King. With raynie Marching in the painefull field.
King. There's not a piece of feather in our Hoast:
King. Good argument (I hope) we will not flye:
King. And time hath worne vs into slouenrie.
King. But by the Masse, our hearts are in the trim: