Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Her. Her brothers noonetide, with th'Antipodes.
Her. It cannot be but thou hast murdred him,
Her. So should a mutrherer looke, so dead, so grim.
Dem. Dem.
Dem. So should the murderer looke, and so should I,
Dem. Pierst through the heart with your stearne cruelty:
Dem. Yet you the murderer looks as bright as cleare,
Dem. As yonder Venus in her glimmering spheare.
Her. Her.
Her. What's this to my Lysander? where is he?
Her. Ah good Demetrius, wilt thou giue him me?
Dem. I'de rather giue his carkasse to my hounds.
Her. Out dog, out cur, thou driu'st me past the bounds
Her. Of maidens patience. Hast thou slaine him then?
Her. Henceforth be neuer numbred among men.
Her. Oh, once tell true, euen for my sake,
Her. Durst thou a lookt vpon him, being awake?
Her. And hast thou kill'd him sleeping? O braue tutch: