Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Æmil. barefoot to Palestine for a touch of his nether lip.
Des. Des.
Des. The poore Soule sat singing, by a Sicamour tree.
Des. Sing all a greene Willough:
Des. Her hand on her bosome her head on her knee,
Des. Sing Willough, Willough, Willough.
Des. The fresh Streames ran by her, and murmur'd her moanes
Des. Sing Willough, &c.
Des. Her salt teares fell from her, and softned the stones,
Des. Sing Willough, &c. (Lay by these)
Des. Willough, Willough. Prythee high thee: he'le come anon)
Des. Sing all a greene Willough must be my Garland.
Des. Let no body blame him, his scorne I approue.
Des. (Nay that's not next. Harke, who is't that knocks?
Æmil. Æmil.
Æmil. It's the wind.
Des. I call'd my Loue false Loue: but what said he then?
Des. If I court mo women, you'le couch with mo men.