Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Ber. And we that sell by grosse, the Lord doth know,
Ber. Haue not the grace to grace it with such show.
Ber. This Gallant pins the Wenches on his sleeue.
Ber. Had he bin Adam, he had tempted Eue.
Ber. He can carue too, and lispe: Why this is he,
Ber. That kist away his hand in courtesie.
Ber. This is the Ape of Forme, Monsieur the nice,
Ber. That when he plaies at Tables, chides the Dice
Ber. In honorable tearmes: Nay he can sing
Ber. A meane most meanly, and in Vshering
Ber. Mend him who can: the Ladies call him sweete.
Ber. The staires as he treads on them kisse his feete.
Ber. This is the flower that smiles on euerie one,
Ber. To shew his teeth as white as Whales bone.
Ber. And consciences that wil not die in debt,
Ber. Pay him the dutie of honie‑tongued Boyet
King. King.
King. A blister on his sweet tongue with my hart,
King. That put Armathoes Page out of his part.
King. Enter the Ladies.