Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Tim. Nay my Lords, Ceremony was but deuis'd at first
Tim. To set a glosse on faint deeds, hollow welcomes,
Tim. Recanting goodnesse, sorry ere 'tis showne:
Tim. But where there is true friendship, there needs none.
Tim. Pray sit, more welcome are ye to my Fortunes,
Tim. Then my Fortunes to me.
1. Lord. 1. Lord.
1. Lord. My Lord, we alwaies haue confest it.
Aper. Aper.
Aper. Ho ho, confest it? Handg'd it? Haue you not?
Timo. Timo.
Timo. O Apermantus, you are welcome.
Aper. No: You shall not make me welcome:
Aper. I come to haue thee thrust me out of doores.
Tim. Tim.
Tim. Fie, th'art a churle, ye'haue got a humour there
Tim. Does not become a man, 'tis much too blame:
Tim. They say my Lords, Ira furor breuis est,
Tim. But yond man is verie angrie.