Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Luc. No euill lost is wail'd, when it is gone.
Adr. Adr.
Adr. Ah but I thinke him better then I say:
Adr. And yet would herein others eies were worse:
Adr. Farre from her nest the Lapwing cries away;
Adr. My heart praies for him, though my tongue doe curse.
Adr. Enter S.Dromio.
Dro. Dro.
Dro. Here goe: the deske, the purse, sweet now make
Dro. haste.
Luc. Luc.
Luc. How hast thou lost thy breath?
S. Dro. S. Dro.
S. Dro. By running fast.
Adr. Where is thy Master Dromio? Is he well?
S. Dro. No, he's in Tartar limbo, worse then hell:
S. Dro. A diuell in an euerlasting garment hath him;
S. Dro. On whose hard heart is button'd vp with steele: