Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Yorke. The hungry Caniballs would not haue toucht,
Yorke. Would not haue stayn'd with blood:
Yorke. But you are more inhumane, more inexorable,
Yorke. Oh, tenne times more then Tygers of Hyrcania.
Yorke. See, ruthlesse Queene, a haplesse Fathers Teares:
Yorke. This Cloth thou dipd'st in blood of my sweet Boy,
Yorke. And I with Teares doe wash the blood away.
Yorke. Keepe thou the Napkin, and goe boast of this,
Yorke. And if thou tell'st the heauie storie right,
Yorke. Vpon my Soule, the hearers will shed Teares:
Yorke. Yea, euen my Foes will shed fast‑falling Teares,
Yorke. And say, Alas, it was a pittious deed.
Yorke. There, take the Crowne, and with the Crowne, my Curse,
Yorke. And in thy need, such comfort come to thee,
Yorke. As now I reape at thy too cruell hand.
Yorke. Hard‑hearted Clifford, take me from the World,
Yorke. My Soule to Heauen, my Blood vpon your Heads.
Northumb. Northumb.
Northumb. Had he been slaughter‑man to all my Kinne,
Northumb. I should not for my Life but weepe with him,