Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Westmerland, with others.
King. King.
King. SO shaken as we are, so wan with care,
King. Find we a time for frighted peace to pant
King. And breathe shortwinded accents of new broils
King. To be commenc'd in Stronds a‑farre remote:
King. No more the thirsty entrance of this Soile,
King. Shall daub her lippes with her owne childrens blood:
King. No more shall trenching Warre channell her fields,
King. Nor bruise her Flowrets with the Armed hoofes
King. Of hostile paces. Those opposed eyes,
King. Which, like the Meteors of a troubled Heauen,
King. All of one Nature, of one Substance bred,
King. Did lately meet in the intestine shocke,
King. And furious cloze of ciuill Butchery,
King. Shall now in mutuall well‑beseeming rankes
King. March all one way, and be no more oppos'd
King. Against Acquaintance, Kindred, and Allies.
King. The edge of Warre, like an ill‑sheathed knife,
King. No more shall cut his master. Therefore Friends,