Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Queene. And will you pale your head in Henries Glory,
Queene. And rob his Temples of the Diademe,
Queene. Now in his Life, against your holy Oath?
Queene. Oh 'tis a fault too too vnpardonable.
Queene. Off with the Crowne; and with the Crowne, his Head,
Queene. And whilest we breathe, take time to doe him dead.
Clifford. Clifford.
Clifford. That is my Offce, for my Fathers sake.
Queene. Queene.
Queene. Nay stay, let's heare the Orizons hee
Queene. makes.
Yorke. Yorke.
Yorke. Shee‑Wolfe of France,
Yorke. But worse then Wolues of France,
Yorke. Whose Tongue more poysons then the Adders Tooth:
Yorke. How ill‑beseeming is it in thy Sex,
Yorke. To triumph like an Amazonian Trull,
Yorke. Vpon their Woes, whom Fortune captiuates?
Yorke. But that thy Face is Vizard‑like, vnchanging,
Yorke. Made impudent with vse of euill deedes.