Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Stew. Nay put out all your hands: Not one word more,
Stew. Thus part we rich in sorrow, parting poore.
Stew. Embrace and part seuerall wayes.
Stew. Oh the fierce wretchednesse that Glory brings vs!
Stew. Who would not wish to be from wealth exempt,
Stew. Since Riches point to Misery and Contempt?
Stew. Who would be so mock'd with Glory, or to liue
Stew. But in a Dreame of Friendship,
Stew. To haue his pompe, and all what state compounds,
Stew. But onely painted like his varnisht Friends:
Stew. Poore honest Lord, brought lowe by his owne heart,
Stew. Vndone by Goodnesse: strange vnvsuall blood,
Stew. When mans worst sinne is, He do's too much Good.
Stew. Who then dares to be halfe so kinde agen?
Stew. For Bounty that makes Gods, do still marre Men.
Stew. My deerest Lord, blest to be most accurst,
Stew. Rich onely to be wretched; thy great Fortunes
Stew. Are made thy cheefe Afflictions. Alas (kinde Lord)
Stew. Hee's flung in Rage from this ingratefull Seate
Stew. Of monstrous Friends: