Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Imo. There's other worke in hand: I see a thing
Imo. Bitter to me, as death: your life, good Master,
Imo. Must shuffle for it selfe.
Luc. Luc.
Luc. The Boy disdaines me,
Luc. He leaues me, scornes me: briefely dye their ioyes,
Luc. That place them on the truth of Gyrles, and Boyes.
Luc. Why stands he so perplext?
Cym. Cym.
Cym. What would'st thou Boy?
Cym. I loue thee more, and more: thinke more and more
Cym. What's best to aske. Know'st him thou look'st on? speak
Cym. Wilt haue him liue? Is he thy Kin? thy Friend?
Imo. Imo.
Imo. He is a Romane, no more kin to me,
Imo. Then I to your Highnesse, who being born your vassaile
Imo. Am something neerer.
Cym. Wherefore ey'st him so?