Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Cel. Cel.
Cel. No; when Nature hath made a faire creature,
Cel. may she not by Fortune fall into the fire? though nature
Cel. hath giuen vs wit to flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune
Cel. sent in this foole to cut off the argument?
Ros. Ros.
Ros. Indeed there is fortune too hard for nature, when
Ros. fortune makes natures naturall, the cutter off of natures
Ros. witte.
Cel. Peraduenture this is not Fortunes work neither,
Cel. but Natures, who perceiueth our naturall wits too dull
Cel. to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this Naturall for
Cel. our whetstone. for alwaies the dulnesse of the foole, is
Cel. the whetstone of the wits. How now Witte, whether
Cel. wander you?
Clow. Clow.
Clow. Mistresse, you must come away to your father.
Cel. Were you made the messenger?