Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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King. King.
King. Norfolke, throw downe, we bidde; there is
King. no boote.
Mow. Mow.
Mow. My selfe I throw (dread Soueraigne) at thy foot.
Mow. My life thou shalt command, but not my shame,
Mow. The one my dutie owes, but my faire name
Mow. Despight of death, that liues vpon my graue
Mow. To darke dishonours vse, thou shalt not haue.
Mow. I am disgrac'd, impeach'd, and baffel'd heere,
Mow. Pierc'd to the soule with slanders venom'd speare:
Mow. The which no balme can cure, but his heart blood
Mow. Which breath'd this poyson.
King. Rage must be withstood:
King. Giue me his gage: Lyons make Leopards tame.
Mo. Mo.
Mo. Yea but not change his spots: take but my shame,
Mo. And I resigne my gage. My deere, deere Lord,
Mo. The purest treasure mortall times afford