Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Her. Slaughters a thousand, wayting vpon that.
Her. Our prayses are our Wages. You may ride’s
Her. With one soft Kisse a thousand Furlongs, ere
Her. With Spur we heat an Acre. But to th’Goale:
Her. My last good deed, was to entreat his stay.
Her. What was my first: it ha’s an elder Sister,
Her. Or I mistake you: O, would her Name were Grace.
Her. But once before I spoke to th’purpose? when?
Her. Nay, let me haue’t: I long.
Leo. Leo.
Leo. Why, that was when
Leo. Three crabbed Moneths had sowr’d themselues to death,
Leo. Ere I could make thee open thy white Hand:
Leo. A clap thy selfe, my Loue; then didst thou vtter,
Leo. I am yours for euer.
Her. Her.
Her. 'Tis Grace indeed.
Her. Why lo‑you now; I haue spoke to th’purpose twice:
Her. The one, for euer earn’d a Royall Husband;
Her. Th’other, for some while a Friend.