Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Rich. With that deere blood which it hath fostered,
Rich. And for our eyes do hate the dire aspect
Rich. Of ciuill wounds plowgh'd vp with neighbors swords,
Rich. Which so rouz'd up with boystrous vntun'd drummes,
Rich. With harsh resounding Trumpets dreadfull bray,
Rich. And grating shocke of wrathfull yron Armes,
Rich. Might from our quiet Confines fright faire peace,
Rich. And make vs wade euen in our kindreds blood:
Rich. Therefore, we banish you our Territories.
Rich. You Cosin Herford, vpon paine of death,
Rich. Till twice liue Summers haue enrich'd our fields,
Rich. Shall not regreet our faire dominions,
Rich. But treade the stranger pathes of banishment.
Bul. Bul.
Bul. Your will be done: This must my comfort be,
Bul. That Sun that warmes you heere, shall shine on me:
Bul. And those his golden beames to you heere lent,
Bul. Shall point on me, and gild my banishment.
Rich. Rich.
Rich. Norfolke: for thee remaines a heauier dombe,