Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Her. The Sunne was not so true vnto the day,
Her. As he to me. Would he haue stollen away,
Her. From sleeping Hermia? Ile beleeue as soone
Her. This whole earth may be bord, and that the Moone
Her. May through the Center creepe, and so displease
Her. Her brothers noonetide, with th'Antipodes.
Her. It cannot be but thou hast murdred him,
Her. So should a mutrherer looke, so dead, so grim.
Dem. Dem.
Dem. So should the murderer looke, and so should I,
Dem. Pierst through the heart with your stearne cruelty:
Dem. Yet you the murderer looks as bright as cleare,
Dem. As yonder Venus in her glimmering spheare.
Her. Her.
Her. What's this to my Lysander? where is he?
Her. Ah good Demetrius, wilt thou giue him me?
Dem. I'de rather giue his carkasse to my hounds.
Her. Out dog, out cur, thou driu'st me past the bounds