Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Pan. Or any woman else.
Troy. Troy.
Troy. I was about to tell thee, when my heart,
Troy. As wedged with a sigh, would riue in twaine,
Troy. Least Hector, or my Father should perceiue me:
Troy. I haue (as when the Sunne doth light a‑scorne)
Troy. Buried this sigh, in wrinkle of a smile:
Troy. But sorrow, that is couch'd in seeming gladnesse,
Troy. Is like that mirth, Fate turnes to sudden sadnesse.
Pan. Pan.
Pan. And her haire were not somewhat darker then
Pan. Helens, Well go too, there were no more comparison be‑tweene the Women. But for my part she is my Kinswo
Pan. man, I would not (as they tearme it) praise it, but I wold
Pan. some‑body had heard her talke yesterday as I did: I will
Pan. not dispraise your sister Cassandra's wit, but⸺
Troy. Oh Pandarus! I tell thee Pandarus;
Troy. When I doe tell thee, there my hopes lye drown'd:
Troy. Reply not inhow many Fadomes deepe
Troy. They lye indrench'd. I tell thee, I am mad