Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Hel. But fare you well; perforce I must confesse,
Hel. I thought you Lord of more true gentlenesse.
Hel. Oh, that a Lady of one man refus'd,
Hel. Should of another therefore be abus'd.
Hel. Exit.
Lys. Lys.
Lys. She sees not Hermia: Hermia sleepe thou there,
Lys. And neuer maist thou come Lysander neere;
Lys. For as a surfeit of the sweetest things
Lys. The deepest loathing to the stomacke brings:
Lys. Or as the heresies that men do leaue,
Lys. Are hated most of those that did deceiue:
Lys. So thou, my surfeit, and my heresie,
Lys. Of all be hated; but the most of me;
Lys. And all my powers addresse your loue and might,
Lys. To honour Helen, and to be her Knight.
Lys. Exit.
Her. Her.
Her. Helpe me Lysander, helpe me; do thy best
Her. To plucke this crawling serpent from my brest.