Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Rich. We will descend, and fold him in our armes.
Rich. Cosin of Herford, as they cause is iust,
Rich. So be thy fortune in this Royall fight:
Rich. Farewell, my blood, which if to day thou shead,
Rich. Lament we may, but not reuenge thee dead.
Bull. Bull.
Bull. Oh let no noble eye prophane a teare
Bull. For me, if I be gor'd with Mowbrayes speare:
Bull. As confident, as is the Falcons flight
Bull. Against a bird, do I with Mowbray fight.
Bull. My louing Lord, I take my leaue of you,
Bull. Of you (my Noble Cosin) Lord Aumerle;
Bull. Not sicke, although I haue to do with death,
Bull. But lustie, yong, and cheerely drawing breath.
Bull. Loe, as at English Feasts, so I regreete
Bull. The daintiest last, to make the end most sweet.
Bull. Oh thou the earthy author of my blood,
Bull. Whose youthfull spirit in me regenerate,
Bull. Doth with a two‑fold rigor lift mee vp
Bull. To reach at victory aboue my head,