Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Warw. You see what Mischiefe, and what Murther too,
Warw. Hath beene enacted through your enmitie:
Warw. Then be at peace, except ye thirst for blood.
Winch. Winch.
Winch. He shall submit, or I will neuer yeeld.
Glost. Glost.
Glost. Compassion on the King commands me stoupe,
Glost. Or I would see his heart out, ere the Priest
Glost. Should euer get that priuiledge of me.
Warw. Warw.
Warw. Behold my Lord of Winchester, the Duke
Warw. Hath banisht moodie discontented fury,
Warw. As by his smoothed Browes it doth appeare:
Warw. Why looke you still so sterne, and tragicall?
Glost. Here Winchester, I offer thee my Hand.
King. King.
King. Fie Vnckle Beauford, I haue heard you preach,
King. That Mallice was a great and grieuous sinne:
King. And will not you maintaine the thing you teach?