Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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King. Who told me, when we both lay in the Field,
King. Frozen (almost) to death, how he did lap me
King. Euen in his Garments, and did giue himselfe
King. (All thin and naked) to the numbe cold night?
King. All this from my Remembrance, brutish wrath
King. Sinfully pluckt, and not a man of you
King. Had so much grace to put it in my minde.
King. But when your Carters, or your wayting Vassalls
King. Haue done a drunken Slaughter, and defac'd
King. The precious Image of our deere Redeemer,
King. You straight are on your knees for Pardon, pardon,
King. And I (vniustly too) must grant it you.
King. But for my Brother, not a man would speake,
King. Nor I (vngracious) speake vnto my selfe
King. For him poore Soule. The proudest of you all,
King. Haue bin beholding to him in his life:
King. Yet none of you, would once begge for his life.
King. O God! I feare thy iustice will take hold
King. On me, and you; and mine, and yours for this.
King. Come Hastings helpe me to my Closset.