Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Glost. Then Saunder, sit there,
Glost. The lying'st Knaue in Christendome.
Glost. If thou hadst beene borne blinde,
Glost. Thou might'st as well haue knowne all our Names,
Glost. As thus to name the seuerall Colours we doe weare.
Glost. Sight may distinguish of Colours:
Glost. But suddenly to nominate them all,
Glost. It is impossible.
Glost. My Lords, Saint Albone here hath done a Miracle:
Glost. And would ye not thinke it, Cunning to be great,
Glost. That could restore this Cripple to his Legges againe.
Simpc. Simpc.
Simpc. O Master, that you could?
Glost. Glost.
Glost. My Masters of Saint Albones,
Glost. Haue you not Beadles in your Towne,
Glost. And Things call'd Whippes?
Maior. Maior.
Maior. Yes, my Lord, if it please your Grace.