Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Q. Enough sweet Suffolke, thou torment'st thy selfe,
Q. And these dread curses like the Sunne 'gainst glasse,
Q. Or like an ouer‑charged Gun, recoile,
Q. And turnes the force of them vpon thy selfe.
Suf. Suf.
Suf. You bad me ban, and will you bid me leaue?
Suf. Now by the ground that I am banish'd from,
Suf. Well could I curse away a Winters night,
Suf. Though standing naked on a Mountaine top,
Suf. Where byting cold would neuer let grasse grow,
Suf. And thinke it but a minute spent in sport.
Qu. Qu.
Qu. Oh, let me intreat thee cease, giue me thy hand,
Qu. That I may dew it with my mournfull teae:
Qu. Nor let the raine of heauen wet this place,
Qu. To wash away my wofull Monuments.
Qu. Oh, could this kisse be printed in thy hand,
Qu. That thou might'st thinke vpon these by the Seale,
Qu. Through whom a thousand sighes are breath'd for thee.
Qu. So get thee gone, that I may know my greefe,