Scoena Tertia.
My Lord.
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My Lord.
Brother, the King hath made your Nephew mad
Who strooke this heate vp after I was gone?
He did, my selfe did heare it.
I cry you mercy.
Heare you Cousin: a word.
At Barkley Castle.
I haue done insooth.
Of Yorke, is't not?
Before the game's a-foot, thou still let'st slip.
And so they shall.
Infaith it is exceedingly well aym'd.
He does, he does; wee'l be reueng'd on him.
Farewell good Brother, we shall thriue, I trust.