Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Publ. Marrie for iustice she is so imploy'd,
Publ. He thinkes with Ioue in heauen, or some where else:
Publ. So that perforce you must needs stay a time.
Tit. Tit.
Tit. He doth me wrong to feed me with delayes,
Tit. Ile diue into the burning Lake below,
Tit. And pull her out of Acaron by the heeles.
Tit. Marcus we are but shrubs, no Cedars we,
Tit. No big‑bon'd‑men, fram'd of the Cyclops size,
Tit. But mettall Marcus steele to the very backe,
Tit. Yet wrung with wrongs more then our backe can beare:
Tit. And sith there's no iustice in earth nor hell,
Tit. We will sollicite heauen, and moue the Gods
Tit. To send downe Iustice for to wreake our wongswrongs:
Tit. Come to this geare, you are a good Archer Marcus.
Tit. He giues them the Arrowes.
Tit. Ad Iouem, that's for you: here ad Appollonem,
Tit. Ad Martem, that's for my selfe,
Tit. Heere Boy to Pallas, heere to Mercury,
Tit. To Saturnine, to Caius, not to Saturnine,