Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Poet. This eye shootes forth? How bigge imagination
Poet. Moues in this Lip, to th'dumbnesse of the gesture,
Poet. One might interpret.
Pain. Pain.
Pain. It is a pretty mocking of the life:
Pain. Heere is a touch: Is't good?
Poet. Poet.
Poet. I will say of it,
Poet. It Tutors Nature, Artificiall strife
Poet. Liues in these toutches, liuelier then life.
Poet. Enter certaine Senators.
Pain. How this Lord is followed.
Poet. The Senators of Athens, happy men.
Pain. Looke moe.
Po. Po.
Po. You see this confluence, this great flood of visitors,
Po. I haue in this rough worke, shap'd out a man