Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Paul. O, patience:
Paul. The Statue is but newly fix’d; the Colour’s
Paul. Not dry.
Cam. Cam.
Cam. My Lord, your Sorrow was too sore lay’d‑on,
Cam. Which sixteene Winters cannot blow away,
Cam. So many Summers dry: scarce any Ioy
Cam. Did euer so long liue; no Sorrow,
Cam. But kill’d it selfe much sooner.
Pol. Pol.
Pol. Deere my Brother,
Pol. Let him, that was the cause of this, haue powre
Pol. To take‑off so much griefe from you, as he
Pol. Will peece vp in himself.
Paul. Paul.
Paul. Indeed my Lord,
Paul. If I had thought the sight of my poore Image
Paul. Would thus haue wrought you (for the Stone is mine)
Paul. Il’d not haue shew’d it.
Leo. Leo.