Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Lear. Or rather a disease that's in my flesh,
Lear. Which I must needs call mine. Thou art a Byle,
Lear. A plague sore, or imbossed Carbuncle
Lear. In my corrupted blood. But Ile not chide thee,
Lear. Let shame come when it will, I do not call it,
Lear. I do not bid the Thunder‐bearer shoote,
Lear. Nor tell tales of thee to high‐iudging Ioue,
Lear. Mend when thou can'st, be better at thy leisure,
Lear. I can be patient, I can stay with Regan,
Lear. I and my hundred Knights.
Reg. Reg.
Reg. Not altogether so,
Reg. I look'd not for you yet, nor am prouided
Reg. For your fit welcome, giue eare Sir to my Sister,
Reg. For those that mingle reason with your passion,
Reg. Must be content to thinke you old, and so,
Reg. But she knowes what she doe's.
Lear. Lear.
Lear. Is this well spoken?