Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Mor. Ile reade the writing.
Mor. All that glisters is not gold,
Mor. Often haue you heard that told;
Mor. Many a man his life hath sold
Mor. But my outside to behold;
Mor. Guilded timber doe wormes infold:
Mor. Had you beene as wise as bold,
Mor. Yong in limbs, in iudgement old,
Mor. Your answere had not beene inscrold,
Mor. Fareyouwell, your suite is cold,
Mor. Mor.
Mor. Cold indeede, and labour lost,
Mor. Then farewell heate, and welcome frost:
Mor. Portia adew, I haue too grieu'd a heart
Mor. To take a tedious leaue: thus loosers part.
Mor. Exit.
Por. Por.
Por. A gentle riddance: draw the curtaines, go:
Por. Let all of his complexion choose me so.
Por. Exeunt.