Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Pol. Your lacke of loue, or bounty, you were straited
Pol. For a reply at least, if you make a care
Pol. Of happie holding her.
Flo. Flo.
Flo. Old Sir, I know
Flo. She prizes not such trifles as these are:
Flo. The gifts she lookes from me, are packt and lockt
Flo. Vp in my heart, which I haue giuen already,
Flo. But not deliuer’d. O heare me breath my life
Flo. Before this ancient Sir, whom (it should seeme)
Flo. Hath sometime lou’d: I take thy hand, this hand,
Flo. As soft as Doues‑downe, and as white as it,
Flo. Or Ethyopians tooth, or the fan’d snow, that’s bolted
Flo. By th’Northerne blasts, twice ore.
Pol. Pol.
Pol. What followes this?
Pol. How prettily th’yong Swaine seemes to wash
Pol. The hand, was faire before? I haue put you out,
Pol. But to your protestation: Let me heare
Pol. What you professe.