Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Por. I feele too much thy blessing, make it lesse,
Por. For feare I surfeit.
Bas. Bas.
Bas. What finde I here?
Bas. Faire Portias counterfeit. What demie God
Bas. Hath come so neere creation? moue these eies?
Bas. Or whether riding on the bals of mine
Bas. Seeme they in motion? Here are seuer'd lips
Bas. Parted with suger breath, so sweet a barre
Bas. Should sunder such sweet friends: here in her haires
Bas. The Painter plaies the Spider, and hath wouen
Bas. A golden mesh t'intrap the hearts of men
Bas. Faster then gnats in cobwebs: but her eies,
Bas. How could he see to doe them? hauing made one,
Bas. Me thinkes it should haue power to steale both his
Bas. And leaue it selfe vnfurnisht: Yet looke how farre
Bas. The substance of my praise doth wrong this shadow
Bas. In vnderprising it, so farre this shadow
Bas. Doth limpe behinde the substance. Here's the scroule,
Bas. The continent, and summarie of my fortune.