Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Glo. Short Summers lightly haue a forward Spring.
Glo. Enter young Yorke, Hastings, and Cardinall.
Buck. Buck.
Buck. Now in good time, heere comes the Duke of
Buck. Yorke.
Prince. Prince.
Prince. Richard of Yorke, how fares our Noble Bro
Prince. ther?
Yorke. Yorke.
Yorke. Well, my deare Lord, so must I call you now.
Prince. I, Brother, to our griefe, as it is yours:
Prince. Too late he dy'd, that might haue kept that Title,
Prince. Which by his death hath lost much Maiestie.
Glo. Glo.
Glo. How fares our Cousin, Noble Lord of Yorke?
Yorke. I thanke you, gentle Vnckle. O my Lord,
Yorke. You said, that idle Weeds are fast in growth:
Yorke. The Prince, my Brother, hath out‑growne me farre.