Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Pis. Pis.
Pis. What shall I need to draw my Sword, the Paper
Pis. Hath cut her throat alreadie? No, 'tis Slander,
Pis. Whose edge is sharper then the Sword, whose tongue
Pis. Out‑venomes all the Wormes of Nyle, whose breath
Pis. Rides on the posting windes, and doth belye
Pis. All corners of the World. Kings, Queenes, and States,
Pis. Maides, Matrons, nay the Secrets of the Graue
Pis. This viperous slander enters. What cheere, Madam?
Imo. Imo.
Imo. False to his Bed? What is it to be false?
Imo. To lye in watch there, and to thinke on him?
Imo. To weepe 'twixt clock and clock? If sleep charge Naure,
Imo. To breake it with a fearfull dreame of him,
Imo. And cry my selfe awake? That's false to's bed? Is it?
Pisa. Pisa.
Pisa. Alas good Lady.
Imo. I false? Thy Conscience witnesse: Iachimo,
Imo. Thou didd'st accuse him of Incontinencie,