Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Sal. To rest without a spot for euermore.
Hen. Hen.
Hen. I haue a kinde soule, that would giue thankes,
Hen. And knowes not how to do it, but with teares.
Bast. Bast.
Bast. Oh let vs pay the time: but needfull woe,
Bast. Since it hath beene before hand with our greefes.
Bast. This England neuer did, nor shall
Bast. Lye at the proud foote of a Conqueror,
Bast. But when it first did helpe to wound it selfe.
Bast. Now, these her Princes are come home againe,
Bast. Come the three corners of the world in Armes,
Bast. And we shall shocke them: Naught shall make vs rue,
Bast. If England to it selfe, do rest but true.
Bast. Exeunt.