Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Ros. As by my faith, I see no more in you
Ros. Then without Candle may goe darke to bed:
Ros. Must you be therefore prowd and pittilesse?
Ros. Why what meanes this? why do you looke on me?
Ros. I see no more in you then in the ordinary
Ros. Of Natures sale‑worke? 'ods my little life,
Ros. I thinke she meanes to tangle my eies too:
Ros. No faith proud Mistresse, hope not after it,
Ros. 'Tis not your inkie browes, your blacke silke haire,
Ros. Your bugle eye‑balls, nor your cheeke of creame
Ros. That can entame my spirits to your worship:
Ros. You foolish Shepheard, wherefore do you follow her
Ros. Like foggy South, puffing with winde and raine,
Ros. You are a thousand times a properer man
Ros. Then she a woman. 'Tis such fooles as you
Ros. That makes the world full of ill‑fauourd children:
Ros. 'Tis not her glasse, but you that flatters her,
Ros. And out of you she sees her selfe more proper
Ros. Then any of her lineaments can show her:
Ros. But Mistris, know your selfe, downe on your knees