Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Card. It serues you well, my Lord, to say so much.
Glost. Glost.
Glost. I say no more then truth, so helpe me God.
Yorke. Yorke.
Yorke. In your Protectorship, you did deuise
Yorke. Strange Tortures for Offendors, neuer heard of,
Yorke. That England was defam'd by Tyrannie.
Glost. Why 'tis well known, that whiles I was Protector,
Glost. Pittie was all the fault that was in me:
Glost. For I should melt at an Offendors teares,
Glost. And lowly words were Ransome for their fault:
Glost. Vnlesse it were a bloody Murtherer,
Glost. Or foule felonious Theefe, that fleec'd poore passengers,
Glost. I neuer gaue them condigne punishment.
Glost. Murther indeede, that bloodie sinne, I tortur'd
Glost. Aboue the Felon, or what Trespas else.
Suff. Suff.
Suff. My Lord these faults are easie, quickly answer'd:
Suff. But mightier Crimes are lay'd vnto your charge,