Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Post. These were her words, vtt'red with mild disdaine:
Post. Tell him, in hope hee'le proue a Widower shortly,
Post. Ile weare the Willow Garland for his sake.
King. King.
King. I blame not her; she could say little lesse:
King. She had the wrong. But what said Henries Queene?
King. For I haue heard, that she was there in place.
Post. Post.
Post. Tell him (quoth she)
Post. My mourning Weedes are done,
Post. And I am readie to put Armour on.
King. Belike she minds to play the Amazon.
King. But what said Warwicke to these iniuries?
Post. He, more incens'd against your Maiestie,
Post. Then all the rest, discharg'd me with these words:
Post. Tell him from me, that he hath done me wrong,
Post. And therefore Ile vncrowne him, er't be long.