Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
King. My numbers lessen'd: and those few I haue,
King. Almost no better then so many French;
King. Who when they were in health, I tell thee Herald,
King. I thought, vpon one payre of English Legges
King. Did march three Frenchmen. Yet forgiue me God,
King. That I doe bragge thus; this your ayre of France
King. Hath blowne that vice in me. I must repent:
King. Goe therefore tell thy Master, heere I am;
King. My Ransome, is this frayle and worthlesse Trunke;
King. My Army, but a weake and sickly Guard:
King. Yet God before, tell him we will come on,
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: