Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Gray. Scro. To which we all appeale.
King. King.
King. The mercy that was quicke in vs but late,
King. By your owne counsaile is supprest and kill'd:
King. You must not dare (for shame) to talke of mercy,
King. For your owne reasons turne into your bosomes,
King. As dogs vpon their maisters, worrying you:
King. See you my Princes, and my Noble Peeres,
King. These English monsters: My Lord of Cambridge heere,
King. You know how apt our loue was, to accord
King. To furnish with all appertinents
King. Belonging to his Honour; and this man,
King. Hath for a few light Crownes, lightly conspir'd
King. And sworne vnto the practises of France.
King. To kill vs heere in Hampton. To the which,
King. This Knight no lesse for bounty bound to Vs
King. Then Cambridge is, hath likewise sworne. But O,
King. What shall I say to thee Lord Scroope, thou cruell,
King. Ingratefull, sauage, and inhumane Creature?
King. Thou that didst beare the key of all my counsailes,