Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Yorke. Yorke.
Yorke. So shall my Vertue be his Vices bawd,
Yorke. And he shall spend mine Honour, with his Shame;
Yorke. As thriftlesse Sonnes, their scraping Fathers Gold.
Yorke. Mine honor liues, when his dishonor dies,
Yorke. Or my sham'd life, in his dishonor lies:
Yorke. Thou kill'st me in his life, giuing him breath,
Yorke. The Traitor liues, the true man's put to death.
Yorke. Dutchesse within.
Dut. Dut.
Dut. What hoa (my Liege) for heauens sake let me in.
Bul. Bul.
Bul. What shrill‑voic'd Suppliant, makes this eager cry?
Dut. A woman, and thine Aunt (great King) 'tis I.
Dut. Speake with me, pitty me, open the dore,
Dut. A Begger begs, that neuer begg'd before.
Bul. Our Scene is alter'd from a serious thing,
Bul. And now chang'd to the Begger, and the King.