Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Lady. That I may powre my Spirits in thine Eare,
Lady. And chastise with the valour of my Tongue
Lady. All that impeides thee from the Golden Round,
Lady. Which Fate and Metaphysicall ayde doth seeme
Lady. To haue thee crown'd withall.
Lady. Enter Messenger.
Lady. What is your tidings?
Mess. Mess.
Mess. The King comes here to Night.
Lady. Lady.
Lady. Thou'rt mad to say it.
Lady. Is not thy Master with him? who, wer't so,
Lady. Would haue inform'd for preparation.
Mess. So please you, it is true: our Thane is comming:
Mess. One of my fellowes had the speed of him;
Mess. Who almost dead for breath, had scarcely more
Mess. Then would make vp his Message.
Lady. Giue him tending,