Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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King. Though France himselfe, and such another Neighbor
King. Stand in our way. There's for thy labour Mountioy.
King. Goe bid thy Master well aduise himselfe.
King. If we may passe, we will: if we be hindred,
King. We shall your tawnie ground with your red blood
King. Discolour: and so Mountioy, fare you well.
King. The summe of all our Answer is but this:
King. We would not seeke a Battaile as we are,
King. Nor as we are, we say we will not shun it:
King. So tell your Master.
Mount. Mount.
Mount. I shall deliuer so: Thankes to your High- nesse.
Glouc. Glouc.
Glouc. I hope they will not come vpon vs now.
King. King.
King. We are in Gods hand, Brother, not in theirs:
King. March to the Bridge, it now drawes toward night,
King. Beyond the Riuer wee'le encampe our selues,
King. And on to morrow bid them march away.
King. Exeunt.