Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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King. His bruised Helmet, and his bended Sword
King. Before him, through the Citie: he forbids it,
King. Being free from vain-nesse, and selfe-glorious pride;
King. Giuing full Trophee, Signall, and Ostent,
King. Quite from himselfe, to God. But now behold,
King. In the quick Forge and working-house of Thought,
King. How London doth powre out her Citizens,
King. The Maior and all his Brethren in best sort,
King. Like to the Senatours of th'antique Rome,
King. With the Plebeians swarming at their heeles,
King. Goe forth and fetch their Conqu'ring Cæsar in:
King. As by a lower, but by louing likelyhood,
King. Were now the Generall of our gracious Empresse,
King. As in good time he may, from Ireland comming,
King. Bringing Rebellion broached on his Sword;
King. How many would the peacefull Citie quit,
King. To welcome him? much more, and much more cause,
King. Did they this Harry. Now in London place him.
King. As yet the lamentation of the French
King. Inuites the King of Englands stay at home: