Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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King. What see you in those papers, that you loose
King. So much complexion? Looke ye how they change:
King. Their cheekes are paper. Why, what reade you there,
King. That haue so cowarded and chac'd your blood
King. Out of apparance.
Cam. Cam.
Cam. I do confesse my fault,
Cam. And do submit me to your Highnesse mercy.
Gray. Scro. Gray. Scro.
Gray. Scro. To which we all appeale.
King. King.
King. The mercy that was quicke in vs but late,
King. By your owne counsaile is supprest and kill'd:
King. You must not dare (for shame) to talke of mercy,
King. For your owne reasons turne into your bosomes,
King. As dogs vpon their maisters, worrying you:
King. See you my Princes, and my Noble Peeres,
King. These English monsters: My Lord of Cambridge heere,
King. You know how apt our loue was, to accord
King. To furnish with all appertinents