Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Hen. Oh yes, it doth; a thousand fold it doth.
Hen. And to conclude, the Shepherds homely Curds,
Hen. His cold thinne drinke out of his Leather Bottle,
Hen. His wonted sleepe, vnder a fresh trees shade,
Hen. All which secure, and sweetly he enioyes,
Hen. Is farre beyond a Princes Delicates:
Hen. His Viands sparkling in a Golden Cup,
Hen. His bodie couched in a curious bed,
Hen. When Care, Mistrust, and Treason waits on him.
Hen. Alarum. Enter a Sonne that hath killed his Father, at
Hen. one doore: and a Father that hath killed his Sonne at ano
Hen. ther doore.
Son. Son.
Son. Ill blowes the winde that profits no body,
Son. This man whom hand to hand I slew in fight,
Son. May be possessed with some store of Crownes,
Son. And I that (haply) take them from him now,
Son. May yet (ere night) yeeld both my Life and them
Son. To some man else, as this dead man doth me.
Son. Who's this? Oh God! It is my Fathers face,