Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Rom. Speak'st thou of Iuliet? how is it with her?
Rom. Doth not she thinke me an old Murtherer,
Rom. Now I haue stain'd the Childhood of our ioy,
Rom. With blood remoued, but little from her owne?
Rom. Where is she? and how doth she? and what sayes
Rom. My conceal'd Lady to our conceal'd Loue?
Nur. Nur.
Nur. Oh she sayes nothing sir, but weeps and weeps,
Nur. And now fals on her bed, and then starts vp,
Nur. And Tybalt calls, and then on Romeo cries,
Nur. And then downe falls againe.
Ro. Ro.
Ro. As if that name shot from the dead leuell of a Gun,
Ro. Did murder her, as that names cursed hand
Ro. Murdred her kinsman. Oh tell me Frier, tell me,
Ro. In what vile part of this Anatomie
Ro. Doth my name lodge? Tell me, that I may sacke
Ro. The hatefull Mansion.
Fri. Fri.
Fri. Hold thy desperate hand: