Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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King. As farre as to the Sepulcher of Christ,
King. Whose Souldier now vnder whose blessed Crosse
King. We are impressed and ingag'd to fight,
King. Forthwith a power of English shall we leuie,
King. Whose armes were moulded in their mothers wombe,
King. To chase these pagans in those holy Fields,
King. Ouer whose acres walk'd those blessed feete
King. Which fourteene hundred yeares ago were nail'd
King. For our aduantage on the bitter Crosse.
King. But this our purpose is a tweluemonth old,
King. And bootlesse 'tis to tell you we will go:
King. Therefore we meete not now. Then let me heare
King. Of you my gentle Cousin Westmerland,
King. What yesternight our Councell did decree,
King. In forwarding this deare expedience.
West. West.
West. My Liege: This haste was hot in question,
West. And many limits of the Charge set downe
West. But yesternight: when all athwart there came
West. A Post from Wales, loaden with heauy Newes;