Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Hot. To plucke bright Honor from the pale‑fac'd Moone,
Hot. Or diue into the bottome of the deepe,
Hot. Where Fadome‑line could neuer touch the ground,
Hot. And plucke vp drowned Honor by the Lockes:
Hot. So he that doth redeeme her thence, might weare
Hot. Without Co‑riuall, all her Dignities:
Hot. But out vpon this halfe‑fac'd Fellowship.
Wor. Wor.
Wor. He apprehends a World of Figures here,
Wor. But not the forme of what he should attend:
Wor. Good Cousin giue me audience for a‑while,
Wor. And list to me.
Hot. Hot.
Hot. I cry you mercy.
Wor. Those same Noble Scottes
Wor. That are your Prisoners.
Hot. Ile keepe them all.
Hot. By heauen, he shall not haue a Scot of them: