Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Mow. Oh let my Soueraigne turne away his face,
Mow. And bid his eares a little while be deafe,
Mow. Till I haue told this slander of his blood,
Mow. How God, and good men, hate so foule a lyar.
King. King.
King. Mowbray, impartiall are our eyes and eares,
King. Were he my brother, nay our kingdomes heyre,
King. As he is but my fathers brothers sonne;
King. Now by my Scepters awe, I make a vow,
King. Such neighbour‑neerenesse to our sacred blood,
King. Should nothing priuiledge him, nor partialize
King. The vn‑stooping firmenesse of my vpright soule.
King. He is our subiect (Mowbray) so art thou,
King. Free speech, and fearelesse, I to thee allow.
Mow. Mow.
Mow. Then Bullingbrooke, as low as to thy heart,
Mow. Through the false passage of thy throat; thou lyest:
Mow. Three parts of that receipt I had for Callice,
Mow. Disburst I to his Highnesse souldiers;
Mow. The other part reseru'd I by consent,