Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Poet. Hauing often of your open Bounty tasted,
Poet. Hearing you were retyr'd, your Friends falne off,
Poet. Whose thankelesse Natures (O abhorred Spirits)
Poet. Not all the Whippes of Heauen, are large enough.
Poet. What, to you,
Poet. Whose Starre‑like Noblenesse gaue life and influence
Poet. To their whole being? I am rapt, and cannot couer
Poet. Themonstrous bulke of this Ingratitude
Poet. With any size of words.
Timon. Timon.
Timon. Let it go,
Timon. Naked men may see't the better:
Timon. You that are honest, by being what you are,
Timon. Make them best seene, and knowne.
Pain. Pain.
Pain. He, and my selfe
Pain. Haue trauail'd in the great showre of your guifts,
Pain. And sweetly felt it.
Timon. I, you are honest man.