Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
L. Bar. Speake at aduenture. Looke, here comes more Newes.
L. Bar. Enter Morton.
Nor. Nor.
Nor. Yea, this mans brow, like to a Title‑leafe,
Nor. Fore‑tels the Nature of a Tragicke Volume:
Nor. So lookes the Strond, when the Imperious Flood
Nor. Hath left a witnest Vsurpation.
Nor. Say Morton, did'st thou come from Shrewsbury?
Mor. Mor.
Mor. I ran from Shrewsbury (my Noble Lord)
Mor. Where hatefull death put on his vgliest Maske
Mor. To fright our party.
North. North.
North. How doth my Sonne, and Brother?
North. Thou trembl'st; and the whitenesse in thy Cheeke
North. Is apter then thy Tongue, to tell thy Errand.
North. Euen such a man, so faint, so spiritlesse,
North. So dull, so dead in looke, so woe‑be‑gone,
North. Drew Priams Curtaine, in the dead of night,
North. And would haue told him, Halfe his Troy was burn'd.