Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Old man. Within the Volume of which Time, I haue seene
Old man. Houres dreadfull, and things strange: but this sore Night
Old man. Hath trifled former knowings.
Rosse. Rosse.
Rosse. Ha, good Father,
Rosse. Thou seest the Heauens, as troubled with mans Act,
Rosse. Threatens his bloody Stage: byth'Clock 'tis Day,
Rosse. And yet darke Night strangles the trauailing Lampe:
Rosse. Is't Nights predominance, or the Dayes shame,
Rosse. That Darknesse does the face of Earth intombe,
Rosse. When liuing Light should kisse it?
Old man. Old man.
Old man. 'Tis vnnaturall,
Old man. Euen like the deed that's done: On Tuesday last,
Old man. A Faulcon towring in her pride of place,
Old man. Was by a Mowsing Owle hawkt at, and kill'd.
Rosse. And Duncans Horses,
Rosse. (A thing most strange, and certaine)
Rosse. Beauteous, and swift, the Minions of their Race,