Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Cran. I shall both finde your Lordship, Iudge and Iuror,
Cran. You are so mercifull. I see your end,
Cran. 'Tis my vndoing. Loue and meekenesse, Lord
Cran. Become a Churchman, better then Ambition:
Cran. Win straying Soules with modesty againe,
Cran. Cast none away: That I shall cleere my selfe,
Cran. Lay all the weight ye can vpon my patience,
Cran. I make as little doubt as you doe conscience,
Cran. In doing dayly wrongs. I could say more,
Cran. But reuerence to your calling, makes me modest.
Gard. Gard.
Gard. My Lord, my Lord, you are a Sectary,
Gard. That's the plaine truth; your painted glosse discouers
Gard. To men that vnderstand you, words and weaknesse.
Crom. Crom.
Crom. My Lord of Winchester, y'are a little,
Crom. By your good fauour, too sharpe; Men of Noble,
Crom. How euer faultly, yet should finde respect
Crom. For what they haue beene: 'tis a cruelty,
Crom. To load a falling man.