Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Clot. Let her lye still, and dreame: by your leaue hoa,
Clot. I know her women are about her: what
Clot. If I do line one of their hands, 'tis Gold
Clot. Which buyes admittance (oft it doth) yea, and makes
Clot. Diana's Rangers false themselues, yeeld vp
Clot. Their Deere to'th'stand o'th'Stealer: and 'tis Gold
Clot. Which makes the True‑man kill'd, and saues the Theefe:
Clot. Nay, sometime hangs both Theefe, and True‑man: what
Clot. Can it not do, and vndoo? I will make
Clot. One of her women Lawyer to me, for
Clot. I yet not vnderstand the case my selfe.
Clot. By your leaue.
Clot. Knockes.
Clot. Enter a Lady.
La. La.
La. Who's there that knockes?
Clot. Clot.
Clot. A Gentleman.
La. No more.