Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Mow. For you my noble Lord of Lancaster,
Mow. The honourable Father to my foe,
Mow. Once I did lay an ambush for your life,
Mow. A trespasse that doth vex my greeued soule:
Mow. But ere I last receiu'd the Sacrament,
Mow. I did confesse it, and exactly begg'd
Mow. Your Graces pardon, and I hope I had it.
Mow. This is my fault: as for the rest appeal'd,
Mow. It issues from the rancour of a Villaine,
Mow. A recreant, and most degenerate Traitor,
Mow. Which in my selfe I boldly will defend,
Mow. And interchangeably hurle downe my gage
Mow. Vpon this ouer‑weening Traitors foote,
Mow. To proue my selfe a loyall Gentleman,
Mow. Euen in the best blood chamber'd in his bosome.
Mow. In hast whereof, most heartily I pray
Mow. Your Highnesse to assigne our Triall day.
King. King.
King. Wrath‑kindled Gentlemen be rul'd by me:
King. Let's purge this choller without letting blood: