Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Lord. Thou art a Foole, if Eccho were as fleete,
Lord. I would esteeme him worth a dozen such:
Lord. But sup them well, and looke vnto them all,
Lord. To morrow I intend to hunt againe.
Hunts. Hunts.
Hunts. I will my Lord.
Lord. Lord.
Lord. What's heere? One dead, or drunke? See doth
Lord. he breath?
2. Hun. 2. Hun.
2. Hun. He breath's my Lord. Were he not warm'd
2. Hun. with Ale, this were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly.
Lord. Oh monstrous beast, how like a swine he lyes.
Lord. Grim death, how foule and loathsome is thine image:
Lord. Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.
Lord. What thinke you, if he were conuey'd to bed,
Lord. Wrap'd in sweet cloathes: Rings put vpon his fingers:
Lord. A most delicious banquet by his bed,
Lord. And braue attendants neere him when he wakes,