Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Bast. My armes, such eele‑skins stuft, my face so thin,
Bast. That in mine eare I durst not sticke a rose,
Bast. Lest men should say, looke where three farthings goes,
Bast. And to his shape were heyre to all this land,
Bast. Would I might neuer stirre from off this place,
Bast. I would giue it euery foot to haue this face:
Bast. It would not be sir nobbe in any case.
Elinor. Elinor.
Elinor. I like thee well: wilt thou forsake thy fortune,
Elinor. Bequeath thy land to him, and follow me?
Elinor. I am a Souldier, and now bound to France.
Bast. Bast.
Bast. Brother, take you my land, Ie take my chance;
Bast. Your face hath got fiue hundred pound a yeere,
Bast. Yet sell your face for fiue pence and 'tis deere:
Bast. Madam, Ile follow you vnto the death.
Elinor. Nay, I would haue you go before me thither.
Bast. Our Country manners giue our betters way.