Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Iach. Enter Posthumus.
Post. Post.
Post. Is there no way for Men to be, but Women
Post. Must be halfe‑workers? We are all Bastards,
Post. And that most venerable man, which I
Post. Did call my Father, was, I know not where
Post. When I was stampt. Some Coyner with his Tooles
Post. Made me a counterfeit: yet my Mother seem'd
Post. The Dian of that time: so doth my Wife
Post. The Non‑pareill of this. Oh Vengeance, Vengeance!
Post. Me of my lawfull pleasure she restrain'd,
Post. And pray'd me oft forbearance: did it with
Post. A pudencie so Rosie, the sweet view on't
Post. Might well haue warm'd olde Saturne;
Post. That I thought her
Post. As Chaste, as vn‑Sunn'd Snow. Oh, all the Diuels!
Post. This yellow Iachimo in an houre, was't not?
Post. aaa2
Post. Or
Post. The Tragedy of Cymbeline.