Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Po. Whom this beneath world doth embrace and hugge
Po. With amplest entertainment: My free drift
Po. Halts not particularly, but moues it selfe
Po. In a wide Sea of wax, no leuell'd malice
Po. Infects one comma in the course I hold,
Po. But flies an Eagle flght, bold, and forth on,
Po. Leauing no Tract behinde.
Pain. Pain.
Pain. How shall I vnderstand you?
Poet. Poet.
Poet. I will vnboult to you.
Poet. You see how all Conditions, how all Mindes,
Poet. As well of glib and slipp'ry Creatures, as
Poet. Of Graue and austere qualitie, tender downe
Poet. Their seruices to Lord Timon: his large Fortune,
Poet. Vpon his good and gracious Nature hanging,
Poet. Subdues and properties to his loue and tendance
Poet. All sorts of hearts; yea, from the glasse‑fac'd Flatterer
Poet. To Apemantus, that few things loues better
Poet. Then to abhorre himselfe; euen hee drops downe