Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Mort. But tell me, Keeper, will my Nephew come?
Keeper. Keeper.
Keeper. Richard Plantagenet, my Lord, will come:
Keeper. We sent vnto the Temple, vnto his Chamber,
Keeper. And answer was return'd, that he will come.
Mort. Mort.
Mort. Enough: my Soule shall then be satisfied.
Mort. Poore Gentleman, his wrong doth equall mine.
Mort. Since Henry Monmouth first began to reigne,
Mort. Before whose Glory I was great in Armes,
Mort. This loathsome sequestration haue I had;
Mort. And euen since then, hath Richard beene obscur'd,
Mort. Depriu'd of Honor and Inheritance.
Mort. But now, the Arbitrator of Despaires,
Mort. Iust Death, kinde Vmpire of mens miseries,
Mort. With sweet enlargement doth dismisse me hence:
Mort. I would his troubles likewise were expir'd,
Mort. That so he might recouer what was lost.
Mort. Enter Richard.