Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Iul. Much lesse shall the that hath Loues wings to flie,
Iul. And when the flight is made to one so deere,
Iul. Of such diuine perfection as Sir Protheus.
Luc. Luc.
Luc. Better forbeare, till Protheus make returne.
Iul: Iul:
Iul: Oh, know'st yu not, his looks are my foules food?
Iul: Pitty the dearth that I haue pined in,
Iul: By longing for that food so long a time.
Iul: Didst thou but know the inly touch of Loue,
Iul: Thou wouldst as soone goe kindle fire with snow
Iul: As seeke to quench the fire of Loue with words.
Luc. I doe not seeke to quench your Loues hot fire,
Luc. But qualifie the fires extreame rage,
Luc. Lest it should burne aboue the bounds of reason.
Iul. Iul.
Iul. The more thou dam'st it vp, the more it burnes:
Iul. The Current that with gentle murmure glides
Iul. (Thou know'st) being stop'd, impatiently doth rage: