Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Northumb. To see how inly Sorrow gripes his Soule.
Queene. Queene.
Queene. What, weeping ripe, my Lord Northumberland?
Queene. Thinke but vpon the wrong he did vs all,
Queene. And that will quickly drie thy melting Teares.
Clifford. Clifford.
Clifford. Heere's for my Oath, heere's for my Fathers
Clifford. Death.
Queene. And heere's to right our gentle‑hearted
Queene. King.
Yorke. Yorke.
Yorke. Open thy Gate of Mercy, gracious God,
Yorke. My Soule flyes through these wounds, to seeke out thee.
Queene. Off with his Head, and set it on Yorke Gates,
Queene. So Yorke may ouer‑looke the Towne of Yorke.
Queene. Flourish. Exit.
Queene. [Act 2, Scene 1]
Queene. A March. Enter Edward, Richard,