Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Ed. That led calme Henry, though he were a King,
Ed. As doth a Saile, fill'd with a fretting Gust
Ed. Command an Argosie to stemme the Waues.
Ed. But thinke you (Lords) that Clifford fled with them?
War. War.
War. No, 'tis impossible he should escape:
War. (For though before his face I speake the words)
War. Your Brother Richard markt him for the Graue,
War. And wheresoere he is, hee's surely dead.
War. Clifford grones
Rich. Rich.
Rich. Whose soule is that which takes hir heauy leaue?
Rich. A deadly grone, like life and deaths departing.
Rich. See who it is.
Ed. Ed.
Ed. And now the Battailes ended,
Ed. If Friend or Foe, let him be gently vsed.
Rich. Reuoke that doome of mercy, for 'tis Clifford,
Rich. Who not contented that he lopp'd the Branch