Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Yorke. So let it helpe me now against thy sword,
Yorke. As I in iustice, and true right expresse it.
Clif. Clif.
Clif. My soule and bodie on the action both.
Yor. Yor.
Yor. A dreadfull lay, addresse thee instantly.
Clif. La fin Corrone les eumenes.
Yor. Thus Warre hath giuen thee peace, for yu art still,
Yor. Peace with his soule, heauen if it be thy will.
Yor. Enter yong Clifford.
Clif. Shame and Confusion all is on the rout,
Clif. Feare frames disorder, and disorder wounds
Clif. Where it should guard. O Warre, thou sonne of hell,
Clif. Whom angry heauens do make their minister,
Clif. Throw in the frozen bosomes of our part,
Clif. Hot Coales of Vengeance. Let no Souldier flye.
Clif. He that is truly dedicate to Warre,