Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Bul. Vpon his bad life, to make all this good.
Bul. That he did plot the Duke of Glousters death,
Bul. Suggest his soone beleeuing aduersaries,
Bul. And consequently, like a Traitor Coward,
Bul. Sluc'd out his innocent soule through streames of blood:
Bul. Which blood, like sacrificing Abels cries,
Bul. (Euen from the toonglesse cauernes of the earth)
Bul. To me for iustice, and rough chasticement:
Bul. And by the glorious worth of my discent,
Bul. This arme shall do it, or this life be spent.
King. King.
King. How high a pitch his resolution soares:
King. Thomas of Norfolke, what sayest thou to this?
Mow. Mow.
Mow. Oh let my Soueraigne turne away his face,
Mow. And bid his eares a little while be deafe,
Mow. Till I haue told this slander of his blood,
Mow. How God, and good men, hate so foule a lyar.
King. Mowbray, impartiall are our eyes and eares,