Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Rich. You left poore Henry at the Bishops Pallace,
Rich. And tenne to one you'le meet him in the Tower.
Edw. Edw.
Edw. 'Tis euen so, yet you are Warwicke still.
Rich. Rich.
Rich. Come Warwicke,
Rich. Take the time, kneele downe, kneele downe:
Rich. Nay when? strike now, or else the Iron cooles.
War. War.
War. I had rather chop this Hand off at a blow,
War. And with the other, fling it at thy face,
War. Then beare so low a sayle, to strike to thee.
Edw. Sayle how thou canst,
Edw. Haue Winde and Tyde thy friend,
Edw. This Hand, fast wound about thy coale‑black hayre,
Edw. Shall, whiles thy Head is warme, and new cut off,
Edw. Write in the dust this Sentence with thy blood,
Edw. Wind‑changing Warwicke now can change no more.
Edw. Enter Oxford, with Drumme and Colours.