Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
King. Enter Worcester.
King. King.
King. How now my Lord of Worster? 'Tis not well
King. That you and I should meet vpon such tearmes,
King. As now we meet. You haue deceiu'd our trust,
King. And made vs doffe our easie Robes of Peace,
King. To crush our old limbes in vngentle steele;
King. This is not well, my Lord, this is not well.
King. What say you to it? Will you againe vnknit
King. This churlish knot of all‑abhorred Warre?
King. And moue in that obedient Orbe againe,
King. Where you did giue a faire and naturall light,
King. And be no more an exhall'd Meteor,
King. A prodigie of Feare, and a Portent
King. Of broached Mischeefe, to the vnborne Times?
Wor. Wor.
Wor. Heare me, my Liege:
Wor. For mine owne part, I could be well content
Wor. To entertaine the Lagge‑end of my life
Wor. With quiet houres: For I do protest,