Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Yor. Grandam, one night as we did sit at Supper,
Yor. My Vnkle Riuers talk'd how I did grow
Yor. More then my Brother. I, quoth my Vnkle Glouster,
Yor. Small Herbes haue grace, great Weeds do grow apace.
Yor. And since, me thinkes I would not grow so fast,
Yor. Because sweet Flowres are slow, and Weeds make hast.
Dut. Dut.
Dut. Good faith, good faith, the saying did not hold
Dut. In him that did obiect the same to thee.
Dut. He was the wretched'st thing when he was yong,
Dut. So long a growing, and so leysurely,
Dut. That if his rule were true, he should be gracious.
Yor. Yor.
Yor. And so no doubt he is, my gracious Madam.
Dut. I hope he is, but yet let Mothers doubt.
Yor. Now by my troth, if I had beene remembred,
Yor. I could haue giuen my Vnkles Grace, a flout,
Yor. To touch his growth, neerer then he toucht mine.