Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Poet. The knee before him, and returnes in peace
Poet. Most rich in Timons nod.
Pain. Pain.
Pain. I saw them speake together.
Poet. Poet.
Poet. Sir, I haue vpon a high and pleasant hill
Poet. Feign'd Fortune to be thron'd.
Poet. The Base o'th'Mount
Poet. Is rank'd with all deserts, all kinde of Natures
Poet. That labour on the bosome of this Sphere,
Poet. To propagate their states; among'st them all,
Poet. Whose eyes are on this Soueraigne Lady fixt,
Poet. One do I personate of Lord Timons frame,
Poet. Whom Fortune with her Iuory hand wafts to her,
Poet. Whose present grace, to present slaues and seruants
Poet. Translates his Riuals.
Pain. 'Tis conceyu'd, to scope
Pain. This Throne, this Fortune, and this Hill me thinkes
Pain. With