Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Tim. Haue their ingratitude in them Hereditary:
Tim. Their blood is cak'd, 'tis cold, it sildome flowes,
Tim. 'Tis lacke of kindely warmth, they are not kinde;
Tim. And Nature, as it growes againe toward earth,
Tim. Is fashion'd for the iourney, dull and heauy.
Tim. Go to Ventiddius (prythee be not sad,
Tim. Thou art true, and honest; Ingeniously I speake,
Tim. No blame belongs to thee:) Ventiddius lately
Tim. Buried his Father, by whose death hee's stepp'd
Tim. Into a great estate: When he was poore,
Tim. Imprison'd, and in scarsitie of Friends,
Tim. I cleer'd him with fiue Talents: Greet him from me,
Tim. Bid him suppose, some good necessity
Tim. Touches his Friend, which craues to be remembred
Tim. With those fiue Talents; that had, giue't these Fellowes
Tim. To whom 'tis instant due. Neu'r speake, or thinke,
Tim. That Timons fortunes 'mong his Friends can sinke.
Stew. Stew.
Stew. I would I could not thinke it:
Stew. That thought is Bounties Foe;