Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Post. Though you it seemes come from the Fliers?
Lo. Lo.
Lo. I did.
Post. Post.
Post. No blame be to you Sir, for all was lost,
Post. But that the Heauens fought: the King himselfe
Post. Of his wings destitute, the Army broken,
Post. And but the backes of Britaines seene; all flying
Post. Through a strait Lane, the Enemy full‑heart'd,
Post. Lolling the Tongue with slaught'ring: hauing worke
Post. More plentifull, then Tooles to doo't: strooke downe
Post. Some mortally, some slightly touch'd, some falling
Post. Meerely through feare, that the strait passe was damm'd
Post. With deadmen, hurt behinde, and Cowards liuing
Post. To dye with length'ned shame.
Lo. Where was this Lane?
Post. Close by the battell, ditch'd, & wall'd with turph,
Post. Which gaue aduantage to an ancient Soldiour