Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
An. But it becoms me wel enough, dost not?
To. To.
To. Excellent, it hangs like flax on a distaffe: & I hope
To. to see a huswife take thee between her legs, & spin it off.
An. An.
An. Faith Ile home to morrow sir Toby, your niece wil
An. not be seene, or if she be it's four to one, she'l none of me:
An. the Count himselfe here hard by, wooes her.
To. Shee'l none o'th Count, she'l not match aboue hir
To. degree, neither in estate, yeares, nor wit: I haue heard her
To. swear t. Tut there's life in't man.
To. And
To. Twelfe Night, or, What you will.
And. And.
And. Ile stay a moneth longer. I am a fellow o'th
And. strangest minde i'th world: I delight in Maskes and Re
And. uels sometimes altogether.
To. Art thou good at these kicke‑chawses Knight?