Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Achil. Shew not their mealie wings, but to the Summer:
Achil. And not a man for being simply man,
Achil. Hath any honour; but honour'd for those honours
Achil. That are without him; as place, riches, and fauour,
Achil. Prizes of accident, as oft as merit:
Achil. Which when they fall, as being slippery standers;
Achil. The loue that leand on them as slippery too,
Achil. Doth one plucke downe another, and together
Achil. Dye in the fall. But 'tis not so with me;
Achil. Fortune and I are friends, I doe enioy
Achil. At ample point, all that I did possesse,
Achil. Saue these mens lookes: who do me thinkes finde out
Achil. Something not worth in me such rich beholding,
Achil. As they haue often giuen. Here is Vlisses,
Achil. Ile interrupt his reading: how now Vlisses?
Vlis. Vlis.
Vlis. Now great Thetis Sonne.
Achil. Achil.
Achil. What are you reading?