Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Hel. To call me goddesse, nimph, diuine, and rare,
Hel. Precious, celestiall? Wherefore speakes he this
Hel. To her he hates? And wherefore doth Lysander
Hel. Denie your loue (so rich within his soule)
Hel. And tender me (forsooth) affection,
Hel. But by your setting on, by your consent?
Hel. What though I be not so in grace as you,
Hel. So hung vpon with loue, so fortunate?
Hel. (But miserable most, to loue vnlou'd)
Hel. This you should pittie, rather then despise.
Her. Her.
Her. I vnderstand not what you meane by this.
Hel. Hel.
Hel. I, doe, perseuer, counterfeit sad lookes,
Hel. Make mouthes vpon me when I turne my backe,
Hel. Winke each at other, hold the sweete iest vp:
Hel. This sport well carried, shall be chronicled.
Hel. If you haue any pittie, grace, or manners,
Hel. You would not make me such an argument:
Hel. But fare ye well, 'tis partly mine owne fault,