Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Ber. Impose some seruice on me for my loue.
Ros. Ros.
Ros. Oft haue I heard of you my Lord Berowne,
Ros. Before I saw you: and the worlds large tongue
Ros. Proclaimes you for a man repleate with mockes,
Ros. Full of comparisons, and wounding floutes:
Ros. Which you on all estates will execute,
Ros. That lie within the mercie of your wit.
Ros. To weed this Wormewood from your fruitfull braine,
Ros. And therewithall to win me, if you please,
Ros. Without the which I am not to be won:
Ros. You shall this tweluemonth terme from day to day,
Ros. Visit the speechlesse sicke, and still conuerse
Ros. With groaning wretches: and your taske shall be,
Ros. With all the fierce endeuour of your wit,
Ros. To enforce the pained impotent to smile.
Ber. Ber.
Ber. To moue wilde laughter in the throate of death?
Ber. It cannot be, it is impossible.
Ber. Mirth cannot moue a soule in agonie.