Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Puck. Puck.
Puck. My Fairie Lord, this must be done with haste,
Puck. For night‑swift Dragons cut the Clouds full fast,
Puck. And yonder shines Auroras harbinger;
Puck. At whose approach Ghosts wandring here and there,
Puck. Troope home to Church‑yards; damned spirits all,
Puck. That in crosse‑waies and flouds haue buriall,
Puck. Alreadie to their wormie beds are gone;
Puck. For feare least day should looke their shames vpon,
Puck. They wilfully themselues dxile from light,
Puck. And must for aye consort with blacke browd night.
Ob. Ob.
Ob. But we are spirits of another sort:
Ob. I, with the mornings loue haue oft made sport,
Ob. And like a Forrester, the groues may tread,
Ob. Euen till the Easterne gate all fierie red,
Ob. Opening on Neptune, with faire blessed beames,
Ob. Turnes into yellow gold, his salt greene streames.
Ob. But notwithstanding haste, make no delay:
Ob. We may effect this businesse, yet ere day.