Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Tim. It is the Pastour Lards, the Brothers sides,
Tim. The want that makes him leaue: who dares? who dares
Tim. In puritie of Manhood stand vpright
Tim. And say, this mans a Flatterer. If one be,
Tim. So are they all: for euerie grize of Fortune
Tim. Is smooth'd by that below. The Learned pate
Tim. Duckes to the Golden Foole. All's obliquie:
Tim. There's nothing leuell in our cursed Natures
Tim. But direct villanie. Therefore be abhorr'd,
Tim. All Feasts, Societies, and Throngs of men.
Tim. His semblable, yea himselfe Timon disdaines,
Tim. Destruction phang mankinde; Earth yeeld me Rootes,
Tim. Who seekes for better of thee, sawce his pallate
Tim. With thy most operant Poyson. What is heere?
Tim. Gold? Yellow, glittering, precious Gold?
Tim. No Gods, I am no idle Votarist,
Tim. Roots you cleere Heauens. Thus much of this will make
Tim. Blacke, white; fowle, faire; wrong, right;
Tim. Base, Noble; Old, young; Coward, valiant.
Tim. Ha you Gods! why this? what this, you Gods? why this