Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
King. Are fiftie thousand strong.
War. War.
War. It cannot be (my Lord:)
War. Rumor doth double, like the Voice, and Eccho,
War. The numbers of the feared. Please it your Grace
War. To goe to bed, upon my Life (my Lord)
War. The Pow'rs that you alreadie have sent forth,
War. Shall bring this Prize in very easily.
War. To comfort you the more, I haue receiu'd
War. A certain instance, that Glendour is dead.
War. Your Maiestie hath beene this fort‑night ill,
War. And these unseason'd howres perforce must adde
War. Vnto your Sicknesse.
King. King.
King. I will take your counsaile:
King. And were these inward Warres once out of hand,
King. Wee would (deare Lords) unto the Holy‑Land.
King. Exeunt.
King. Scena Secunda.
King. [Act 3, Scene 2]