Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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King. King.
King. Here at the Pallace will I rest a while.
King. Cousin of Exeter, what thinks your Lordship?
King. Me thinkes, the Power that Edward hath in field,
King. Should not be able to encounter mine.
Exet. Exet.
Exet. The doubt is, that he will seduce the rest.
King. That's not my feare, my meed hath got me fame:
King. I haue not stopt mine eares to their demands,
King. Nor posted off their suites with slow delayes,
King. My pittie hath beene balme to heale their wounds,
King. My mildnesse hath allay'd their swelling griefes,
King. My mercie dry'd their water‑flowing teares.
King. I haue not been desirous of their wealth,
King. Nor much opprest them with great Subsidies,
King. Nor forward of reuenge, though they much err'd.
King. Then why should they loue Edward more then me?
King. No Exeter, these Graces challenge Grace:
King. q2