Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Bul. Thou sheere, immaculate, and siluer fountaine,
Bul. From whence this streame, through muddy passages
Bul. Hath had his current, and defil'd himselfe.
Bul. Thy ouerflow of good, conuerts to bad,
Bul. And thy abundant goodnesse shall excuse
Bul. This deadly blot, in thy digressing sonne.
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?