Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Rosse. Almost affraid to know it selfe. It cannot
Rosse. Be call'd our Mother, but our Graue; where nothing
Rosse. But who knowes nothing, is once seene to smile:
Rosse. Where sighes, and groanes, and shrieks that rent the ayre
Rosse. Are made, not mark'd: Where violent sorrow seemes
Rosse. A Moderne extasie: The Deadmans knell,
Rosse. Is there scarse ask'd for who, and good mens liues
Rosse. Expire before the Flowers in their Caps,
Rosse. Dying, or ere they sicken.
Macd. Macd.
Macd. Oh Relation; too nice, and yet too true.
Malc. Malc.
Malc. What's the newest griefe?
Rosse. Rosse.
Rosse. That of an houres age, doth hisse the speaker,
Rosse. Each minute teemes a new one.
Macd. How do's my Wife?
Rosse. Why well.