Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Queene. I would prolong a while the Traytors Life:
Queene. Wrath makes him deafe; speake thou Northumberland.
Northumb. Northumb.
Northumb. Hold Clifford, doe not honor him so much,
Northumb. To prick thy finger, though to wound his heart.
Northumb. What valour were it, when a Curre doth grinne,
Northumb. For one to thrust his Hand betweene his Teeth,
Northumb. When he might spurne him with his Foot away?
Northumb. It is Warres prize, to take all Vantages,
Northumb. And tenne to one, is no impeach of Valour.
Clifford. Clifford.
Clifford. I, I, so striues the Woodcocke with the
Clifford. Gynne.
Northumb. So doth the Connie struggle in the
Northumb. Net.
York. York.
York. So triumph Theeues vpon their conquer'd Booty,
York. So True men yeeld with Robbers, so o're‑matcht.