Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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King. Like the Brasse Cannon: let the Brow o'rewhelme it,
King. As fearefully, as doth a galled Rocke
King. O're-hang and iutty his confounded Base,
King. Swill'd with the wild and wastfull Ocean.
King. Now set the Teeth, and stretch the Nosthrill wide,
King. Hold hard the Breath, and bend vp euery Spirit
King. To his full height. On, on, you Noblish English,
King. Whose blood is fet from Fathers of Warre-proofe:
King. Fathers, that like so many Alexanders,
King. Haue in these parts from Morne till Euen fought,
King. And sheath'd their Swords, for lack of argument.
King. Dishonour not your Mothers: now attest,
King. That those whom you call'd Fathers, did beget you.
King. Be Coppy now to me of grosser blood,
King. And teach them how to Warre. And you good Yeomen,
King. Whose Lyms were made in England; shew vs here
King. The mettell of your Pasture: let vs sweare,
King. That you are worth your breeding: which I doubt not:
King. For there is none of you so meane and base,
King. That hath not Noble luster in your eyes.