Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Clo. This is the ayre, that is the glorious Sunne,
Clo. This pearle she gaue me, I do feel't, and see't,
Clo. And though tis wonder that enwraps me thus,
Clo. Yet
Clo. Twelfe Night, or, What you will.
Clo. Yet 'tis not madnesse. Where's Anthonio then,
Clo. I could not finde him at the Elephant,
Clo. Yet there he was, and there I found this credite,
Clo. That he did range the towne to seeke me out,
Clo. His councell now might do me golden seruice,
Clo. For though my soule disputes well with my sence,
Clo. That this may be some error, but no madnesse,
Clo. Yet doth this accident and flood of Fortune,
Clo. So farre exceed all instance, all discourse,
Clo. That I am readie to distrust mine eyes,
Clo. And wrangle with my reason that perswades me
Clo. To any other trust, but that I am mad,
Clo. Or else the Ladies mad; yet if 'twere so,
Clo. She could not sway her house, command her followers,
Clo. Take, and giue backe affayres, and their dispatch,