him, and rellish it with good obseruance. I found him
vnder a tree like a drop'd Acorne

Ros. It may wel be cal'd Ioues tree, when it droppes
forth fruite

Cel. Giue me audience, good Madam

Ros. Proceed

Cel. There lay hee stretch'd along like a Wounded
knight

Ros. Though it be pittie to see such a sight, it well
becomes the ground

Cel. Cry holla, to the tongue, I prethee: it curuettes
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
bring'st me out of tune

Ros. Do you not know I am a woman, when I thinke,
I must speake: sweet, say on.
Enter Orlando & Iaques.

Cel. You bring me out. Soft, comes he not heere?
Ros. 'Tis he, slinke by, and note him