Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Imo. I see a mans life is a tedious one,
Imo. I haue tyr'd my selfe: and for two nights together
Imo. Haue made the ground my bed. I should be sicke,
Imo. But that my resolution helpes me: Milford,
Imo. When from the Mountaine top, Pisanio shew'd thee,
Imo. Thou was't within a kenne. Oh Ioue, I thinke
Imo. Foundations flye the wretched: such I meane,
Imo. Where they should be releeu'd. Two Beggers told me,
Imo. I could not misse my way. Will poore Folkes lye
Imo. That haue Afflictions on them, knowing 'tis
Imo. A punishment, or Triall? Yes; no wonder,
Imo. When Rich‑ones scarse tell true. To lapse in Fulnesse
Imo. Is sorer, then to lye for Neede: and Falshood
Imo. Is worse in Kings, then Beggers. My deere Lord,
Imo. Thou art one o'th'false Ones: Now I thinke on thee,
Imo. My hunger's gone; but eE3Auen before, I was
Imo. At point to sinke, for Food. But what is this?
Imo. Heere is a path too't: 'tis some sauage hold:
Imo. I were best not call; I dare not call: yet Famine
Imo. Ere cleane it o're‑throw Nature, makes it valiant.