Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Rich. Rich.
Rich. 'Twas you that kill'd yong Rutland, was it not?
Clif. Clif.
Clif. I, and old Yorke, and yet not satisfied.
Rich. For Gods sake Lords giue signall to the fight.
War. War.
War. What say'st thou Henry,
War. Wilt thou yeeld the Crowne?
Qu. Qu.
Qu. Why how now long‑tongu'd Warwicke, dare (you speak?
Qu. When you and I, met at S. Saint Albons last,
Qu. Your legges did better seruice then your hands.
War. Then 'twas my turne to fly, and now 'tis thine:
Clif. You said so much before, and yet you fled.
War. 'Twas not your valor Clifford droue me thence.
Nor. Nor.