Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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West. For all the Countrey, in a generall voyce,
West. Cry'd hate vpon him: and all their prayers, and loue,
West. Were set on Herford, whom they doted on,
West. And bless'd, and grac'd, and did more then the King.
West. But this is meere digression from my purpose.
West. Here come I from our Princely Generall,
West. To know your Griefes; to tell you, from his Grace,
West. That hee will giue you Audience: and wherein
West. It shall appeare, that your demands are iust,
West. You shall enioy them, euery thing set off,
West. That might so much as thinke you Enemies.
Mow. Mow.
Mow. But hee hath forc'd vs to compell this Offer,
Mow. And it proceedes from Pollicy, not Loue.
West. West.
West. Mowbray, you ouer‑weene to take it so:
West. This Offer comes from Mercy, not from Feare.
West. For loe, within a Ken our Army lyes,
West. Vpon mine Honor, all too confident
West. To giue admittance to a thought of feare.