Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Hel. For beasts that meete me, runne away for feare,
Hel. Therefore no maruaile, though Demetrius
Hel. Doe as a monster, flie my presence thus.
Hel. What wicked and dissembling glasse of mine,
Hel. Made me compare with Hermias sphery eyne?
Hel. But who is here? Lysander on the ground;
Hel. Deade or asleepe? I see no bloud, no wound,
Hel. Lysander, if you liue, good sir awake.
Lys. Lys.
Lys. And run through fire I will for thy sweet sake.
Lys. Transparent Helena, nature her shewes art,
Lys. That through thy bosome makes me see thy heart.
Lys. Where is Demetrius? oh how fit a word
Lys. Is that vile name, to perish on my sword!
Hel. Hel.
Hel. Do not say so Lysander, say not so:
Hel. What though he loue your Hermia? Lord, what though?
Hel. Yet Hermia still loues you; then be content.
Lys. Content with Hermia? No, I do repent