Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Flo. As little skill to feare, as I haue purpose
Flo. To put you to’t. But come, our dance I pray,
Flo. Your hand (my Perdita:) so Turtles paire
Flo. That neuer meane to part.
Perd. Perd.
Perd. Ile sweare for 'em.
Pol. Pol.
Pol. This is the prettiest Low‑borne Lasse, that euer
Pol. Ran on the greene‑sord: Nothing she do’s, or seems
Pol. But smackes of something greater then her selfe,
Pol. Too Noble for this place.
Cam. Cam.
Cam. He tels her something
Cam. That makes her blood looke on’t: Good sooth she is
Cam. The Queene of Curds and Creame.
Clo. Clo.
Clo. Come on: strike vp.
Dorcas. Dorcas.
Dorcas. Mopsa must be your Mistris: marry Garlick
Dorcas. to mend her kissing with.