Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Mor. Therefore I pray you leade me to the Caskets
Mor. To trie my fortune: By this Symitare
Mor. That slew the Sophie, and a Persian Prince
Mor. That won three fields of Sultan Solyman,
Mor. I would ore‑stare the sternest eies that looke:
Mor. Out‑braue the heart most daring on the earth:
Mor. Plucke the yong sucking Cubs from the she Beare,
Mor. Yea, mocke the Lion when he rores for pray
Mor. To win the Ladie. But alas, the while
Mor. If Hercules and Lychas plaie at dice
Mor. Which is the better man, the greater throw
Mor. May turne by fortune from the weaker hand:
Mor. So is Alcides beaten by his rage,
Mor. And so may I, blinde fortune leading me
Mor. Misse that which one vnworthier may attaine,
Mor. And die with grieuing.
Port. Port.
Port. You must take your chance,
Port. And either not attempt to choose at all,
Port. Or sweare before you choose, if you choose wrong