Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Pain. Pain.
Pain. 'Tis a good Peece.
Poet. Poet.
Poet. So 'tis, this comes off well, and excellent.
Pain. Indifferent.
Poet. Admirable: How this grace
Poet. Speakes his owne standing: what a mentall power
Poet. This eye shootes forth? How bigge imagination
Poet. Moues in this Lip, to th'dumbnesse of the gesture,
Poet. One might interpret.
Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life:
Pain. Heere is a touch: Is't good?
Poet. I will say of it,
Poet. It Tutors Nature, Artificiall strife
Poet. Liues in these toutches, liuelier then life.
Poet. Enter certaine Senators.