Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
King. Your angry Choller on your Enemies.
King. Our Selfe, my Lord Protector, and the rest,
King. After some respit, will returne to Calice;
King. From thence to England, where I hope ere long
King. To be presented by your Victories,
King. With Charles, Alanson, and that Traiterous rout.
King. Exeunt. Manet Yorke, Warwick, Exeter, Vernon.
War. War.
War. My Lord of Yorke, I promise you the King
War. Prettily (me thought) did play the Orator.)
Yorke. Yorke.
Yorke. And so he did, but yet I like it not,
Yorke. In that he weares the badge of Somerset.
War. Tush, that was but his fancie, blame him not,
War. I dare presume (sweet Prince) he thought no harme.
Yorke. And if I wish he did. But let it rest,
Yorke. Other affayres must now be managed.
Yorke. Exeunt.