Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Hel. My selfe against the leuill of mine aime,
Hel. But know I thinke, and thinke I know most sure,
Hel. My Art is not past power, nor you past cure.
King. King.
King. Art thou so confident? Within what space
King. Hop'st thou my cure?
Hel. Hel.
Hel. The greatest grace lending grace,
Hel. Ere twice the horses of the sunne shall bring
Hel. Their fiery torcher his diurnall ring,
Hel. Ere twice in murke and occidentall dampe
Hel. Moist Hesperus hath quench'd her sleepy Lampe:
Hel. Or foure and twenty times the Pylots glasse
Hel. Hath told the theeuish minutes, how they passe:
Hel. What is infirme, from your sound parts shall flie,
Hel. Health shall liue free, and sickenesse freely dye.
King. Vpon thy certainty and confidence,
King. What dar'st thou venter?
Hell. Hell.