Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Cleo. Will it eate me?
Clow. Clow.
Clow. You must not think I am so simple, but I know
Clow. the diuell himselfe will not eate a woman: I know, that
Clow. a woman is a dish for the Gods, if the diuell dresse her
Clow. not. But truly, these same whorson diuels doe the Gods
Clow. great harme in their women: for in euery tenne that they
Clow. make, the diuels marre fiue.
Cleo. Cleo.
Cleo. Well, get thee gone, farewell.
Clow. Yes forsooth: I wish you ioy o'th'worm.
Clow. Exit
Cleo. Giue me my Robe, put on my Crowne, I haue
Cleo. Immortall longings in me. Now no more
Cleo. The iuyce of Egypts Grape shall moyst this lip.
Cleo. Yare, yare, good Iras; quicke: Me thinkes I heare
Cleo. Anthony call: I see him rowse himselfe
Cleo. To praise my Noble Act. I heare him mock