Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Yor. Heere am I left to vnder‑prop his Land,
Yor. Who weake with age, cannot support my selfe:
Yor. Now comes the sicke houre that his surfet made,
Yor. Now shall he try his friends that flattered him.
Yor. Enter a seruant.
Ser. Ser.
Ser. My Lord, your sonne was gone before I came.
Yor. Yor.
Yor. He was: why so: go all which way it will:
Yor. The Nobles they are fled, the Commons they are cold,
Yor. And will I feare reuolt on Herfords side.
Yor. Sirra, get thee to Plashie to my sister Gloster,
Yor. Bid her send me presently a thousand pound,
Yor. Hold, take my Ring.
Ser. My Lord, I had forgot
Ser. To tell your Lordship, to day I came by, and call'd there,
Ser. But I shall greeue you to report the rest.
Yor. What is't knaue?