Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Keeper. My Lord, your louing Nephew now is come.
Mor. Mor.
Mor. Richard Plantagenet, my friend, is he come?
Rich. Rich.
Rich. I, Noble Vnckle, thus ignobly vs'd,
Rich. Your Nephew, late despised Richard, comes.
Mort. Mort.
Mort. Direct mine Armes, I may embrace his Neck,
Mort. And in his Bosome spend my latter gaspe.
Mort. Oh tell me when my Lippes doe touch his Cheekes,
Mort. That I may kindly giue one fainting Kisse.
Mort. And now declare Sweet stem from Yorkes great stock,
Mort. Why didst thou say of late thou wert despis'd?
Mort. Rich. First
Mort. The first Part of Henry the Sixt.
Rich. First, leane thine aged Back against mine Arme,
Rich. And in that ease, Ile tell thee my Disease.
Rich. This day in argument vpon a Case,
Rich. Some words there grew 'twixt Somerset and me: