Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Post. Who dares not stand his Foe, Ile be his Friend:
Post. For if hee'l do, as he is made to doo,
Post. I know hee'l quickly flye my friendship too.
Post. You haue put me into Rime.
Lord. Lord.
Lord. Farewell, you're angry.
Lord. Exit.
Post. Post.
Post. Still going? This is a Lord: Oh Noble misery
Post. To be i'th'Field, and aske what newes of me:
Post. To day, how many would haue giuen their Honours
Post. To haue sau'd their Carkasses? Tooke heele to doo't,
Post. And yet dyed too. I, in mine owne woe charm'd
Post. Could not finde death, where I did heare him groane,
Post. Nor feele him where he strooke. Being an vgly Monster,
Post. 'Tis strange he hides him in fresh Cups, soft Beds,
Post. Sweet words; or hath moe ministers then we
Post. That draw his kniues i'th'War. Well I will finde him:
Post. For being now a Fauourer to the Britaine,
Post. No more a Britaine, I haue resum'd againe