Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Clo. Tel him ther's a Post come from my Master, with
Clo. his horne full of good newes, my Master will be here ere
Clo. morning sweete soule.
Loren. Loren.
Loren. Let's in, and there expect their comming.
Loren. And yet no matter: why should we goe in?
Loren. My friend Stephen, signifie pray you
Loren. Within the house, your Mistresse is at hand,
Loren. And bring your musique foorth into the ayre.
Loren. How sweet the moone‑light sleepes vpon this banke,
Loren. Heere will we sit, and let the sounds of musicke
Loren. Creepe in our eares soft stilnes, and the night
Loren. Become the tutches of sweet harmonie:
Loren. Sit Iessica, looke how the floore of heauen
Loren. Is thicke inlayed with pattens of bright gold,
Loren. There's not the smallest orbe which thou beholdst
Loren. But in his motion like an Angell sings,
Loren. Still quiring to the young eyed Cherubins;
Loren. Such harmonie is in immortall soules,
Loren. But whilst this muddy vesture of decay