Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
An. Neuer hung poyson on a fowler Toade.
An. Out of my sight, thou dost infect mine eyes.
Rich. Rich.
Rich. Thine eyes (sweet Lady) haue infected mine.
An. An.
An. Would they were Basiliskes, to strike thee dead.
Rich. I would they were, that I might dye at once:
Rich. For now they kill me with a liuing death.
Rich. Those eyes of thine, from mine haue drawne salt Teares;
Rich. For
Rich. The Life and Death of Richard the Third.
Rich. Sham'd their Aspects with store of childish drops:
Rich. These eyes, which neuer shed remorsefull teare,
Rich. No, when my Father Yorke, and Edward wept,
Rich. To heare the pittious moane that Rutland made
Rich. When black‑fac'd Clifford shooke his sword at him.
Rich. Nor when thy warlike Father like a Childe,
Rich. Told the sad storie of my Fathers death,
Rich. Aod twenty times, made pause to sob and weepe: