Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Hen. Hen.
Hen. Let me embrace the sower Aduersaries,
Hen. For Wise men say, it is the wisest course.
Hum. Hum.
Hum. Why linger we? Let vs lay hands vpon him.
Sink. Sink.
Sink. Forbeare a‑while, wee'l heare a little more.
Hen. My Queene and Son are gone to France for aid:
Hen. And (as I heare) the great Commanding Warwicke
Hen. I: thither gone, to craue the French Kings Sister
Hen. To wife for Edward. If this newes be true,
Hen. Poore Queene, and Sonne, your labour is but lost:
Hen. For Warwicke is a subtle Orator:
Hen. And Lewis a Prince soone wonne with mouing words:
Hen. By this account then, Margaret may winne him,
Hen. For she's a woman to be pittied much:
Hen. Her sighes will make a batt'ry in his brest,
Hen. Her teares will pierce into a Marble heart:
Hen. The Tyger will be milde, whiles she doth mourne;