Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Dem. And thus she meanes, videlicit.
This. This.
This. Asleepe my Loue? What, dead my Doue?
This. O Piramus arise:
This. Speake, Speake. Quite dumbe? Dead, dead? A tombe
This. Must couer thy sweet eyes.
This. These Lilly Lips, this cherry nose,
This. These yellow Cowslip cheekes
This. Are gone, are gone: Louers make mone:
This. His eyes were greene as Leekes.
This. O sisters three, come, come to mee,
This. With hands as pale as Milke,
This. Lay them in gore, since you haue shore
This. With sheeres, his thred of silke.
This. Tongue not a word: Come trusty sword:
This. Come blade, my brest imbrue:
This. O3
This. And
This. A Midsommer nights Dreame.
This. And farwell friends, thus Thisbie ends;