Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Clo. Yet
Clo. Twelfe Night, or, What you will.
Clo. Yet 'tis not madnesse. Where's Anthonio then,
Clo. I could not finde him at the Elephant,
Clo. Yet there he was, and there I found this credite,
Clo. That he did range the towne to seeke me out,
Clo. His councell now might do me golden seruice,
Clo. For though my soule disputes well with my sence,
Clo. That this may be some error, but no madnesse,
Clo. Yet doth this accident and flood of Fortune,
Clo. So farre exceed all instance, all discourse,
Clo. That I am readie to distrust mine eyes,
Clo. And wrangle with my reason that perswades me
Clo. To any other trust, but that I am mad,
Clo. Or else the Ladies mad; yet if 'twere so,
Clo. She could not sway her house, command her followers,
Clo. Take, and giue backe affayres, and their dispatch,
Clo. With such a smooth, discreet, and stable bearing
Clo. As I perceiue she do's: there's something in't
Clo. That is deceiueable. But heere the Lady comes.