Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Pain. Timon of Athens.
Pain. With one man becken'd from the rest below,
Pain. Bowing his head against the steepy Mount
Pain. To climbe his happinesse, would be well exprest
Pain. In our Condition.
Poet. Poet.
Poet. Nay Sir, but heare me on:
Poet. All those which were his Fellowes but of late,
Poet. Some better then his valew; on the moment
Poet. Follow his strides, his Lobbies fill with tendance,
Poet. Raine Sacrificiall whisperings in his eare,
Poet. Make Sacred euen his styrrop, and through him
Poet. Drinke the free Ayre.
Pain. Pain.
Pain. I marry, what of these?
Poet. When Fortune in her shift and change of mood
Poet. Spurnes downe her late beloued; all his Dependants
Poet. Which labour'd after him to the Mountaines top,
Poet. Euen on their knees and hand, let him sit downe,