Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
An. And thou hast kil'd him.
Mar. Mar.
Mar. Pardon me sir,
Mar. It was a blacke illfauour'd Fly,
Mar. Like to the Empresse Moore, therefore I kild him.
An. An.
An. O, o, o,
An. Then pardon me for reprehending thee,
An. For thou hast done a Charitable deed:
An. Giue me thy knife, I will insult on him,
An. Flattering my selfes, as if it were the Moore,
An. Come hither purposely to poyson me.
An. There's for thy selfe, and thats for Tamira: Ah sirra,
An. Yet I thinke we are not brought so low,
An. But that betweene vs, we can kill a Fly,
An. That comes in likenesse of a Cole‑blacke Moore.
Mar. Alas poore man, griefe ha's so wrought on him,
Mar. He takes false shadowes, for true substances.