Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Rosse. Whether it was his wisedome, or his feare.
Wife. Wife.
Wife. Wisedom? to leaue his wife, to leaue his Babes,
Wife. His Mansion, and his Titles, in a place
Wife. From whence himselfe do's flye? He loues vs not,
Wife. He wants the naturall touch. For the poore Wren
Wife. (The most diminitiue of Birds) will fight,
Wife. Her yong ones in her Nest, against the Owle:
Wife. All is the Feare, and nothing is the Loue;
Wife. As little is the Wisedome, where the flight
Wife. So runnes against all reason.
Rosse. Rosse.
Rosse. My deerest Cooz,
Rosse. I pray you schoole your selfe. But for your Husband,
Rosse. He is Noble, Wise, Iudicious, and best knowes
Rosse. The fits o'th'Season. I dare not speake much further,
Rosse. But cruell are the times, when we are Traitors
Rosse. And do not know our selues: when we hold Rumor
Rosse. From what we feare, yet know not what we feare,
Rosse. But floate vpon a wilde and violent Sea