Digital facsimile of the Bodleian First Folio of Shakespeare's plays, Arch. G c.7
Title: Search
Ros. It may vvel be cal'd Ioues tree, when it droppes
Ros. forth fruite.
Cel. Cel.
Cel. Giue me audience, good Madam.
Ros. Ros.
Ros. Proceed.
Cel. There lay hee stretch'd along like a Wounded
Cel. knight.
Ros. Though it be pittie to see such a sight, it vvell
Ros. becomes the ground.
Cel. Cry holla, to the tongue, I prethee: it curuettes
Cel. vnseasonably. He was furnish'd like a Hunter.
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.