Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Gaunt. To stirre against the Butchers of his life.
Gaunt. But
Gaunt. The life and death of Richard the second.
Gaunt. But since correction lyeth in those hands
Gaunt. Which made the fault that we cannot correct,
Gaunt. Put we our quarrell to the will of heauen,
Gaunt. Who when they see the houres ripe on earth,
Gaunt. Will raigne hot vengeance on offenders heads.
Dut. Dut.
Dut. Findes brotherhood in thee no sharper spurre?
Dut. Hath loue in thy old blood no liuing fire?
Dut. Edwards seuen sonnes (whereof thy selfe art one)
Dut. Were as seuen violles of his Sacred blood,
Dut. Or seuen faire branches springing from one roote:
Dut. Some of those seuen are dride by natures course,
Dut. Some of those branches by the destinies cut:
Dut. But Thomas, my deere Lord, my life, my Glouster,
Dut. One Violl full of Edwards Sacred blood,
Dut. One flourishing branch of his most Royall roote
Dut. Is crack'd, and all the precious liquor spilt;