Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Pan. If you had won it, certainely you had.
Pan. No, no: when Fortune meanes to men most good,
Pan. Shee lookes vpon them with a threatening eye:
Pan. 'Tis strange to thinke how much King Iohn hath lost
Pan. In this which he accounts so clearely wonne:
Pan. Are
Pan. The life and death of King Iohn.
Pan. Are not you grieu'd that Arthur is his prisoner?
Dol. Dol.
Dol. As heartily as he is glad he hath him.
Pan. Pan.
Pan. Your minde is all as youthfull as your blood.
Pan. Now heare me speake with a propheticke spirit:
Pan. For euen the breath of what I meane to speake,
Pan. Shall blow each dust, each straw, each little rub
Pan. Out of the path which shall directly lead
Pan. Thy foote to Englands Throne. And therefore marke:
Pan. Iohn hath seiz'd Arthur, and it cannot be,
Pan. That whiles warme life playes in that infants veines,
Pan. The mis‑plac'd‑Iohn should entertaine an houre,