Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Iul. Iul.
Iul. Yond light is not daylight, I know it I:
Iul. It is some Meteor that the Sun exhales,
Iul. To be to thee this night a Torch‑bearer,
Iul. And light thee on thy way to Mantua.
Iul. Therefore stay yet, thou need'st not be gone,
Rom. Rom.
Rom. Let me be tane, let me be put to death,
Rom. I am content, so thou wilt haue it so.
Rom. Ile say yon gray is not the mornings eye,
Rom. 'Tis but the pale reflexe of Cinthias brow.
Rom. Nor that is not Larke whose noates do beate
Rom. The vaulty heauen so high aboue our heads,
Rom. I haue more care to stay, then will to go:
Rom. Come death and welcome, Iuliet wills it so.
Rom. How ist my soule, lets talke, it is not day.
Iuli. Iuli.
Iuli. It is, it is, hie hence be gone away:
Iuli. It is the Larke that sings so out of tune,
Iuli. Straining harsh Discords, and vnpleasing Sharpes.