Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Quin. Whose mouth is couered with Rude growing Briers,
Quin. Vpon whose leaues are drops of new‑shed‑blood,
Quin. As fresh as mornings dew distil'd on flowers,
Quin. A very fatall place it seemes to me:
Quin. Speake Brother hast thou hurt thee with the fall?
Martius. Martius.
Martius. Oh Brother,
Martius. With the dismal'st obiect
Martius. That euer eye with sight made heart lament.
Aron. Aron.
Aron. Now will I fetch the King to finde them heere,
Aron. That he thereby may haue a likely gesse,
Aron. How these were they that made away his Brother.
Aron. Exit Aaron.
Marti. Marti.
Marti. Why dost not comfort me and helpe me out,
Marti. From this vnhallow'd and blood‑stained Hole?
Quintus. Quintus.
Quintus. I am surprised with an vncouth feare,
Quintus. A chilling sweat ore‑runs my trembling ioynts,