Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Bass. The seeming truth which cunning times put on
Bass. To intrap the wisest. Therefore then thou gaudie gold,
Bass. Hard food for Midas, I will none of thee,
Bass. Nor none of thee thou pale and common drudge
Bass. 'Tweene man and man: but thou, thou meager lead
Bass. Which rather threatnest then dost promise ought,
Bass. Thy palenesse moues me more then eloquence,
Bass. And here choose I, ioy be the consequence.
Por. Por.
Por. How all the other passions fleet to ayre,
Por. As doubtfull thoughts, and rash imbrac'd despaire:
Por. And shuddring feare, and greene‑eyed iealousie.
Por. O loue be moderate, allay thy extasie,
Por. In measure raine thy ioy, scant this excesse,
Por. I feele too much thy blessing, make it lesse,
Por. For feare I surfeit.
Bas. Bas.
Bas. What finde I here?
Bas. Faire Portias counterfeit. What demie God
Bas. Hath come so neere creation? moue these eies?