Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Prin. [Act 1, Scene 3]
Prin. Enter the King, Northumberland, Worcester, Hotspurre,
Prin. Sir Walter Blunt, and others.
King. King.
King. My blood hath beene too cold and temperate,
King. Vnapt to stirre at these indignities,
King. And you haue found me; for accordingly,
King. You tread vpon my patience: But be sure,
King. I will from henceforth rather be my Selfe,
King. Mighty, and to be fear'd, then my condition
King. Which hath beene smooth as Oyle, soft as yong Downe,
King. And therefore lost that Title of respect,
King. Which the proud soule ne're payes, but to the proud.
Wor. Wor.
Wor. Our house (my Soueraigne Liege) little deserues
Wor. The scourge of greatnesse to be vsed on it,
Wor. And that same greatnesse too, which our owne hands
Wor. Haue holpe to make so portly.
Nor. Nor.
Nor. My Lord.