Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Dem. And might not gaine so great a happines
Dem. As halfe thy Loue: Why doost not speake to me?
Dem. Alas, a Crimson riuer of warme blood,
Dem. Like to a bubling fountaine stir'd with winde,
Dem. Doth rise and fall betweene thy Rosed lips,
Dem. Comming and going with thy hony breath.
Dem. But sure some Tereus hath defloured thee,
Dem. And least thou should'st detect them, cut thy tongue.
Dem. Ah, now thou turn'st away thy face for shame:
Dem. And notwithstanding all this losse of blood,
Dem. As from a Conduit with their issuing Spouts,
Dem. Yet doe thy cheekes looke red as Titans face,
Dem. Blushing to be encountred with a Cloud,
Dem. Shall I speake for thee? shall I say 'tis so?
Dem. Oh that I knew thy hart, and knew the beast
Dem. That I might raile at him to ease my mind.
Dem. Sorrow concealed, like an Ouen stopt,
Dem. Doth burne the hart to Cinders where it is.
Dem. Faire Philomela she but lost her tongue,
Dem. And in a tedious Sampler sowed her minde.