Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Yorke. Bespake them thus: I thanke you Countrimen:
Yorke. And thus still doing, thus he past along.
Dutch. Dutch.
Dutch. Alas poore Richard, where rides he the whilst?
Yorke. Yorke.
Yorke. As in a Theater, the eyes of men
Yorke. After a well grac'd actor leaues the Stage,
Yorke. Are idlely bent on him that enters next,
Yorke. Thinking his prattle to be tedious:
Yorke. Euen so, or with much more contempt, mens eyes
Yorke. Did scowle on Richard: no man cride, God saue him:
Yorke. No ioyfull tongue gaue him his welcome home,
Yorke. But dust was throwne vpon his Sacred head,
Yorke. Which with such gentle sorrow he shooke off,
Yorke. His face still combating with teares and smiles
Yorke. (The badges of his greefe and patience)
Yorke. That had not God (for some strong purpose) steel'd
Yorke. The hearts of men, they must perforce haue melted,
Yorke. And Barbarisme it selfe haue pittied him.
Yorke. But heauen hath a hand in these euents,