Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Luc. well.
Flam. Flam.
Flam. Is't possible the world should so much differ,
Flam. And we aliue that liued? Fly damned basenesse
Flam. To him that worships thee.
Luc. Luc.
Luc. Ha? Now I see thou art a Foole, and fit for thy
Luc. Master.
Luc. Exit L.
Flam. May these adde to the number yt may scald thee:
Flam. Let moulten Coine be thy damnation,
Flam. Thou disease of a friend, and not himselfe:
Flam. Has friendship such a faint and milkie heart,
Flam. It turnes in lesse then two nights? O you Gods!
Flam. I feele my Masters passion. This Slaue vnto his Honor,
Flam. Has my Lords meate in him:
Flam. Why should it thriue, and turne to Nutriment,
Flam. When he is turn'd to poyson?
Flam. O may Diseases onely worke vpon't: