Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Aron. Aron.
Aron. Come on my Lords, the better foote before,
Aron. Straight will I bring you to the lothsome pit,
Aron. Where I espied the Panther fast asleepe.
Quin. Quin.
Quin. My sight is very dull what ere it bodes.
Marti. Marti.
Marti. And mine I promise you, were it not for shame,
Marti. Well could I leaue our sport to sleepe a while.
Quin. What art thou fallen?
Quin. What subtile Hole is this,
Quin. Whose mouth is couered with Rude growing Briers,
Quin. Vpon whose leaues are drops of new‑shed‑blood,
Quin. As fresh as mornings dew distil'd on flowers,
Quin. A very fatall place it seemes to me:
Quin. Speake Brother hast thou hurt thee with the fall?
Martius. Martius.
Martius. Oh Brother,
Martius. With the dismal'st obiect