Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Vern. All furnisht, all in Armes,
Vern. All plum'd like Estridges, that with the Winde
Vern. Bayted like Eagles, hauing lately bath'd,
Vern. Glittering in Golden Coates, like Images,
Vern. As full of spirit as the Moneth of May,
Vern. And gorgeous as the Sunne at Mid‑summer,
Vern. Wanton as youthfull Goates, wilde as young Bulls.
Vern. I saw young Harry with his Beuer on,
Vern. His Cushes on his thighes, gallantly arm'd,
Vern. Rise from the ground like feathered Mercury,
Vern. And vaulted with such ease into his Seat,
Vern. As if an Angell dropt downe from the Clouds,
Vern. To turne and winde a fierie Pegasus,
Vern. And witch the World with Noble Horsemanship.
Hotsp. Hotsp.
Hotsp. No more, no more,
Hotsp. Worse then the Sunne in March:
Hotsp. This prayse doth nourish Agues: let them come.
Hotsp. They come like Sacrifices in their trimme,
Hotsp. And to the fire‑ey'd Maid of smoakie Warre,