Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Imo. It is no acte of common passage, but
Imo. A straine of Rarenesse: and I greeue my selfe,
Imo. To thinke, when thou shalt be disedg'd by her,
Imo. That now thou tyrest on, how thy memory
Imo. Will then be pang'd by me. Prythee dispatch,
Imo. The Lambe entreats the Butcher. Wher's thy knife?
Imo. Thou art too slow to do thy Masters bidding
Imo. When I desire it too.
Pis. Pis.
Pis. Oh gracious Lady:
Pis. Since I receiu'd command to do this businesse,
Pis. I haue not slept one winke.
Imo. Imo.
Imo. Doo't, and to bed then.
Pis. Ile wake mine eye‑balles first.
Imo. Wherefore then
Imo. Didd'st vndertake it? Why hast thou abus'd
Imo. So many Miles, with a pretence? This place?