Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
An. Thou shalt not sighe nor hold thy stumps to heauen,
An. Nor winke, nor nod, nor kneele, nor make a signe;
An. But I (of these) will wrest an Alphabet,
An. And by still practice, learne to know thy meaning.
Boy. Boy.
Boy. Good grandsire leaue these bitter deepe laments,
Boy. Make my Aunt merry, with some pleasing tale.
Mar. Mar.
Mar. Alas, the tender boy in passion mou'd,
Mar. Doth weepe to see his grandsires heauinesse.
An. An.
An. Peace tender Sapling, thou art made of teares,
An. And teares will quickly melt thy life away.
An. Marcus strikes the dish with a knife.
An. What doest thou strike at Marcus with knife.
Mar. At that that I haue kil'd my Lord, a Flys
An. Out on the murderour: thou kil'st my hart,
An. Mine eyes cloi'd with view of Tirranie: