Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Rich. That hath dismiss'd vs from our Stewardship,
Rich. For well wee know, no Hand of Blood and Bone
Rich. Can gripe the sacred Handle of our Scepter,
Rich. Vnlesse he doe prophane, steale, or vsurpe.
Rich. And though you thinke, that all, as you haue done,
Rich. Haue torne their Soules, by turning them from vs,
Rich. And we are barren, and bereft of Friends:
Rich. Yet know, my Master, God Omnipotent,
Rich. Is mustring in his Clouds, on our behalfe,
Rich. Armies of Pestilence, and they shall strike
Rich. Your Children yet vnborne, and vnbegot,
Rich. That lift your Vassall Hands against my Head,
Rich. And threat the Glory of my precious Crowne.
Rich. Tell Bullingbrooke, for yond me thinkes he is,
Rich. That euery stride he makes vpon my Land,
Rich. Is dangerous Treason: He is come to ope
Rich. The purple Testament of bleeding Warre;
Rich. But ere the Crowne he looks for, liue in peace,
Rich. Ten thousand bloody crownes of Mothers Sonnes
Rich. Shall ill become the flower of Englands face,