Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Rom. Griefes of mine owne lie heauie in my breast,
Rom. Which thou wilt propagate to haue it preast
Rom. With more of thine, this loue that thou hast showne,
Rom. Doth adde more griefe, to too much of mine owne.
Rom. Loue, is a smoake made with the fume of sighes,
Rom. Being purg'd, a fire sparkling in Louers eyes,
Rom. Being vext, a Sea nourisht with louing teares,
Rom. What is it else? a madnesse, most discreet,
Rom. A choking gall, and a preseruing sweet:
Rom. Farewell my Coze.
Ben. Ben.
Ben. Soft I will goe along.
Ben. And if you leaue me so, you do me wrong.
Rom. Rom.
Rom. Tut I haue lost my selfe, I am not here,
Rom. This is not Romeo, hee's some other where.
Ben. Tell me in sadnesse, who is that you loue?
Rom. What shall I grone and tell thee?