Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Salar. Salar.
Salar. Beleeue me sir, had I such venture forth,
Salar. The better part of my affections, would
Salar. Be with my hopes abroad. I should be still
Salar. Plucking the grasse to know where sits the winde.
Salar. Peering in Maps for ports, and peers, and rodes:
Salar. And euery obiect that might make me feare
Salar. Misfortune to my ventures, out of doubt
Salar. Would make me sad.
Sal. Sal.
Sal. My winde cooling my broth,
Sal. Would blow me to an Ague, when I thought
Sal. What harme a winde too great might doe at sea.
Sal. I should not see the sandie houre‑glasse runne,
Sal. But I should thinke of shallows, and of flats,
Sal. And see my wealthy Andrew docks in sand,
Sal. Vailing her high top lower then her ribs
Sal. To kisse her buriall; should I goe to Church
Sal. And see the holy edifice of stone,
Sal. And not bethinke me straight of dangerous rocks,