Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Rich. Of that sweet way I was in, to despaire:
Rich. What say you now? What comfort haue we now?
Rich. By Heauen Ile hate him euerlastingly,
Rich. That bids me be of comfort any more.
Rich. Goe to Flint Castle, there Ile pine away,
Rich. A King, Woes slaue, shall Kingly Woe obey:
Rich. That Power I haue, discharge, and let 'em goe
Rich. To eare the Land, that hath some hope to grow,
Rich. For I haue none. Let no man speake againe
Rich. To alter this, for counsaile is but vaine.
Aum. Aum.
Aum. My Liege, one word.
Rich. Rich.
Rich. He does me double wrong,
Rich. That wounds me with the flatteries of his tongue.
Rich. Discharge my followers: let them hence away,
Rich. From Richards Night, to Bullingbrookes faire Day.
Rich. Exeunt.
Rich. Scæna Tertia.
Rich. [Act 3, Scene 3]