Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Pol. The Art it selfe, is Nature.
Perd. Perd.
Perd. So it is.
Pol. Pol.
Pol. Then make you Garden rich in Gilly’ vors,
Pol. And do not call them bastards.
Perd. Ile not put
Perd. The Dible in earth, to set one slip of them:
Perd. No more then were I painted, I would wish
Perd. This youth should say 'twer well: and onely therefore
Perd. Desire to breed by me. Here’s flowres for you:
Perd. Hot Lauender, Mints, Sauory, Mariorum,
Perd. The Mary‑gold, that goes to bed with’Sun,
Perd. And with him rises, weeping: These are flowres
Perd. Of middle summer, and I thinke they are giuen
Perd. To men of middle age. Y’are very welcome.
Cam. Cam.
Cam. I should leaue grasing, were I of your flocke,
Cam. And onely liue by gazing.