Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Yorke. A short Alarum within.
Yorke. Ah hearke, the fatall followers doe pursue,
Yorke. And I am faint, and cannot flye their furie:
Yorke. And were I strong, I would not shunne their furie.
Yorke. The Sands are numbred, that makes vp my Life,
Yorke. Here must I stay, and here my Life must end.
Yorke. Enter the Queene, Clifford, Northumberland,
Yorke. the young Prince, and Souldiers.
Yorke. Come bloody Clifford, rough Northumberland,
Yorke. I dare your quenchlesse furie to more rage;
Yorke. I am your Butt, and I abide your Shot.
Northumb. Northumb.
Northumb. Yeeld to our mercy, proud Plantagenet.
Clifford. Clifford.
Clifford. I, to such mercy, as his ruthlesse Arme
Clifford. With downe‑right payment, shew'd vnto my Father.
Clifford. Now Phaeton hath tumbled from his Carre,
Clifford. And made an Euening at the Noone‑tide Prick.
Yorke. Yorke.
Yorke. My ashes, as the Phœnix, may bring forth