Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Phe. I had rather here you chide, then this man wooe.
Ros. Ros.
Ros. Hees falne in loue with your foulnesse, & shee'll
Ros. Fall in loue with my anger. If it be so, as fast
Ros. As she answeres thee with frowning lookes, ile sauce
Ros. Her with bitter words: why looke you so vpon me?
Phe. Phe.
Phe. For no ill will I beare you.
Ros. I pray you do not fall in loue with mee,
Ros. For I am falser then vowes made in wine:
Ros. Besides, I like you not: if you will know my house,
Ros. 'Tis at the tufft of Oliues, here hard by:
Ros. Will you goe Sister? Shepheard ply her hard:
Ros. Come
Ros. As you like it.
Ros. Come Sister: Shepheardesse, looke on him better
Ros. And be not proud, though all the world could see,
Ros. None could be so abus'd in sight as hee.
Ros. Come, to our flocke,