Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
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Cel. Cel.
Cel. Cry holla, to the tongue, I prethee: it curuettes
Cel. vnseasonably. He was furnish'd like a Hunter.
Ros. Ros.
Ros. O ominous, he comes to kill my Hart.
Cel. I would sing my song without a burthen, thou
Cel. bring'st me out of tune.
Ros. Do you not know I am a woman, when I thinke,
Ros. I must speake: sweet, say on.
Ros. Enter Orlando & Iaques.
Cel. You bring me out. Soft, comes he not heere?
Ros. 'Tis he, slinke by, and note him.
Iaq. Iaq.
Iaq. I thanke you for your company, but good faith
Iaq. I had as liefe haue beene my selfe alone.
Orl. Orl.