Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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E. Har. Their Armours that march'd hence so siluer bright,
E. Har. Hither returne all gilt with Frenchmens blood:
E. Har. There stuck no plume in any English Crest,
E. Har. That is remoued by a staffe of France.
E. Har. Our colours do returne in those same hands
E. Har. That did display them when we first marcht forth:
E. Har. And like a iolly troope of Huntsmen come
E. Har. Our lustie English, all with purpled hands,
E. Har. Dide in the dying slaughter of their foes,
E. Har. Open your gates, and giue the Victors way.
Hubert. Hubert.
Hubert. Heralds, from off our towres we might behold
Hubert. From first to last, the on‑set and retyre
Hubert. Of both yonr Armies, whose equality
Hubert. By our best eyes cannot be censured:
Hubert. Blood hath bought blood, and blowes haue answerd (blowes:
Hubert. Strength matcht with strength, and power confronted
Hubert. power,
Hubert. Both are alike, and both alike we like:
Hubert. One must proue greatest. While they weigh so euen,