Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Rich. Rich.
Rich. Great Lord of Warwicke, if we should recompt
Rich. Our balefull newes, and at each words deliuerance
Rich. Stab Poniards in our flesh, till all were told,
Rich. The words would adde more anguish then the wounds.
Rich. O valiant Lord, the Duke of Yorke is slaine.
Edw. Edw.
Edw. O Warwicke, Warwicke, that Plantagenet
Edw. Which held thee deerely, as his Soules Redemption,
Edw. Is by the sterne Lord Clifford done to death.
War. War.
War. Ten dayes ago, I drown'd these newes in teares.
War. And now to adde more measure to your woes,
War. I come to tell you things sith then befalne.
War. After the bloody Fray at Wakefield fought,
War. Where your braue Father breath'd his latest gaspe,
War. Tydings, as swiftly as the Postes could runne,
War. Were brought me of your Losse, and his Depart.
War. I then in London, keeper of the King,
War. Muster'd my Soldiers, gathered flockes of Friends,