Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Quintus. Will not permit mine eyes once to behold
Quintus. The thing where at it trembles by surmise:
Quintus. Oh tell me how it is, for nere till now
Quintus. Was I a child to feare I know not what.
Marti. Marti.
Marti. Lord Bassianus lies embrewed heere,
Marti. All on a heape like to the slaughtred Lambe,
Marti. In this detested, darke, blood‑drinking pit.
Quin. Quin.
Quin. If it be darke, how doost thou know 'tis he?
Mart. Mart.
Mart. Vpon his bloody finger he doth weare
Mart. A precious Ring, that lightens all the Hole:
Mart. Which like a Taper in some Monument,
Mart. Doth shine vpon the dead mans earthly cheekes,
Mart. And shewes the ragged intrailes of the pit:
Mart. So pale did shine the Moone on Piramus,
Mart. When he by night lay bath'd in Maiden blood:
Mart. O Brother helpe me with thy fainting hand.
Mart. If feare hath made thee faint, as mee it hath,