Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Stew. This night englutted: who is not Timons,
Stew. What heart, head, sword, force, meanes, but is L. Lord Timons:
Stew. Great Timon, Noble, Worthy, Royall Timon:
Stew. Ah, when the meanes are gone, that buy this praise,
Stew. The breath is gone, whereof this praise is made:
Stew. Feast won, fast lost; one cloud of Winter showres,
Stew. These flyes are coucht.
Tim. Tim.
Tim. Come sermon me no further.
Tim. No villanous bounty yet hath past my heart;
Tim. Vnwisely, not ignobly haue I giuen.
Tim. Why dost thou weepe, canst thou the conscience lacke,
Tim. To thinke I shall lacke friends: secure thy heart,
Tim. If I would broach the vessels of my loue,
Tim. And try the argument of hearts, by borrowing,
Tim. Men, and mens fortunes could I frankely vse
Tim. As I can bid thee speake.
ste. ste.
ste. Arance blesse your thoughts.