Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Bel. The ground that gaue them first, ha's them againe:
Bel. Their pleasures here are past, so are their paine.
Bel. Exeunt.
Bel. bbb
Bel. Imogen
Bel. The Tragedie of Cymbeline.
Bel. Imogen awakes.
Bel. Yes Sir, to Milford‑Hauen, which is the way?
Bel. I thanke you: by yond bush? pray how farre thether?
Bel. 'Ods pittikins: can it be sixe mile yet?
Bel. I haue gone all night: 'Faith, Ile lye downe, and sleepe.
Bel. But soft; no Bedfellow? Oh Gods, and Goddesses!
Bel. These Flowres are like the pleasures of the World;
Bel. This bloody man the care on't. I hope I dreame:
Bel. For so I thought I was a Caue‑keeper,
Bel. And Cooke to honest Creatures. But 'tis not so:
Bel. 'Twas but a bolt of nothing, shot of nothing,
Bel. Which the Braine makes of Fumes. Our very eyes,
Bel. Are sometimes like our Iudgements, blinde. Good faith
Bel. I tremble still with feare: but if there be