Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Art. O heauen: that there were but a moth in yours,
Art. A graine, a dust, a gnat, a wandering haire,
Art. Any annoyance in that precious sense:
Art. Then feeling what small things are boysterous there,
Art. Your vilde intent must needs seeme horrible.
Hub. Hub.
Hub. Is this your promise? Go too, hold your toong
Art. Art.
Art. Hubert, the vtterance of a brace of tongues,
Art. Must needes want pleading for a paire of eyes:
Art. Let me not hold my tongue: let me not Hubert,
Art. Or Hubert, if you will cut out my tongue,
Art. So I may keepe mine eyes. O spare mine eyes,
Art. Though to no vse, but still to looke on you.
Art. Loe, by my troth, the Instrument is cold,
Art. And would not harme me.
Hub. I can heate it, Boy.
Art. No, in good sooth: the fire is dead with griefe,