Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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York. So many miles vpon her peacefull Bosome,
York. Frighting her pale‑fac'd Villages with Warre,
York. And ostentation of despised Armes?
York. Com'st thou because th'anoynted King is hence?
York. Why foolish Boy, the King is left behind,
York. And in my loyall Bosome lyes his power.
York. Were I but now the Lord of such hot youth,
York. As when braue Gaunt, thy Father, and my selfe
York. Rescued the Black Prince, that yong Mars of men,
York. From forth the Rankes of many thousand French:
York. Oh then, how quickly should this Arme of mine,
York. Now Prisoner to the Palsie, chastise thee,
York. And minister correction to thy Fault.
Bull. Bull.
Bull. My gracious Vnckle, let me know my Fault,
Bull. On what Condition stands it, and wherein?
York. York.
York. Euen in Condition of the worst degree,
York. In grosse Rebellion, and detested Treason:
York. Thou art a banish'd man, and here art come