Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Her. Lysander and my selfe will flie this place.
Her. Before the time I did Lysander see,
Her. Seem'd Athens like a Paradise to mee.
Her. O
Her. A Midsommer nights Dreame.
Her. O then, what graces in my Loue do dwell,
Her. That he hath turn'd a heauen into hell.
Lys. Lys.
Lys. Helen, to you our mindes we will vnfold,
Lys. To morrow night, when Phoebe doth behold
Lys. Her siluer visage, in the watry glasse,
Lys. Decking with liquid pearle, the bladed grasse
Lys. (A time that Louers flights doth still conceale)
Lys. Through Athens gates, haue we deuis'd to steale.
Her. Her.
Her. And in the wood, where often you and I,
Her. Vpon faint Primrose beds, were wont to lye,
Her. Emptying our bosomes, of their counsell sweld:
Her. There my Lysander, and my selfe shall meete,
Her. And thence from Athens turne away our eyes