Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Bast. But there is little reason in your greefe.
Bast. Therefore 'twere reason you had manners now.
Pem. Pem.
Pem. Sir, sir, impatience hath his priuiledge.
Bast. Bast.
Bast. 'Tis true, to hurt his master, no mans else.
Sal. Sal.
Sal. This is the prison: What is he lyes heere?
P. P.
P. Oh death, made proud with pure & princely beuty,
P. The earth had not a hole to hide this deede.
Sal. Murther, as hating what himselfe hath done,
Sal. Doth lay it open to vrge on reuenge.
Big. Big.
Big. Or when he doom'd this Beautie to graue,
Big. Found it too precious Princely, for a graue.
Sal. Sir Richard, what thinke you? you haue beheld,
Sal. Or haue you read, or heard, or could you thinke?