Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Post. Ore‑borne i'th'former waue, ten chac'd by one,
Post. Are now each one the slaughter‑man of twenty:
Post. Those that would dye, or ere resist, are growne
Post. The mortall bugs o'th'Field.
Post. Lor.
Post. The Tragedie of Cymbeline.
Lord. Lord.
Lord. This was strange chance:
Lord. A narrow Lane, an old man, and two Boyes.
Post. Post.
Post. Nay, do not wonder at it: you are made
Post. Rather to wonder at the things you heare,
Post. Then to worke any. Will you Rime vpon't,
Post. And vent it for a Mock'rie? Heere is one:
Post. “Two Boyes, an Oldman (twice a Boy) a Lane,
Post. “Preseru'd the Britaines, was the Romanes bane.
Lord. Nay, be not angry Sir.
Post. Lacke, to what end?