Cel. Ay-Fare you well, fair gentleman. Orl. Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts Are all thrown down; and that which here stands up, Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block. Ros. He calls us back: My pride fell with my fortunes : I'll ask him what he would :-Did you call, sir?Sir, you have wrestled well, and overthrown More than your enemies, Cel. [Exeunt Rosalind and Celia. Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue? I cannot speak to her, yet she urg'd conference. Re-enter Le Beau. poor Orlando! thou art overthrown; That he misconstrues all that you have done. Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners; But yet, indeed, the shorter is his daughter: (1) The object to dart at in martial exercises. Grounded upon no other argument, But that the people praise her for her virtues, you. I shall desire more love and knowledge of [Exit Le Beau. [Exit. Cel. Why, cousin ; why, Rosalind ;-Cupid have mercy!-Not a word? Ros. Not one to throw at a dog. Cel. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs, throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons. Ros. Then there were two cousins laid up; when the one should be lamed with reasons, and the other mad without any. Cel. But is all this for your father? Ros. No, some of it for my child's father: O, how full of briers is this working-day world! Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery; if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats will catch them. Ros. could shake them off my coat; these burs are in my heart. Cel. Hem them away. Ros. I would try; if I could cry hem, and have him. Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself. Cel. O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in despite of a fall.-But, turning these jests Is it out of service, let us talk in good earnest : possible, on such a sudden, you should fall into so strong a liking with old sir Rowland's youngest son? Ros. The duke my father lov'd his father dearly. Cel. Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love his son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly;1 yet I hate not Orlando. Ros. No, 'faith, hate him not, for my sake. Cel. Why should I not? doth he not deserve well? Ros. Let me love him for that; and do you love him, because I do :-Look, here comes the duke. Cel. With his eyes full of anger. Enter Duke Frederick, with lords. Duke F. Mistress, despatch you with haste, your safest And get you from our court. Ros. Me, uncle? Duke F. You, cousin Within these ten days if that thou be'st found Ros. I do beseech your grace, Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me: Or have acquaintance with mine own desires; Duke F. Thus do all traitors; If their purgation did consist in words, Ros. Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor; Tell me, whereon the likelihood depends. Duke F. Thou art thy father's daughter, there's enough. (1) Inveterately. Ros. So was I, when your highness took his dukedom; So was I, when your highness banish'd him; Or, if we did derive it from our friends, Cel. Dear sovereign, hear me speak. Duke F. Ay, Celia; we stay'd her for your sake, Else had she with her father rang'd along. Cel. I did not then entreat to have her stay, It was your pleasure, and your own remorse;1 I was too young that time to value her, But now I know her: if she be a traitor, Why so am I; we still have slept together, Rose at an instant, learn'd, play'd, eat together; And wheresoe'er we went, like Juno's swans, Still we went coupled, and inseparable. Duke F. She is too subtle for thee; and her smoothness, Her very silence, and her patience, 1 Thou art a fool: she robs thee of thy name; When she is gone: then open not thy lips; Which I have pass'd upon her; she is banish'd. Cel. Pronounce that sentence then on me, my liege; I cannot live out of her company. Duke F. You are a fool-You, niece, provide If you out-stay the time, upon mine honour, (1) Compassion. Wilt thou change fathers? I will give thee mine. 1 charge thee, be not thou more griev'd than I am. Ros. I have more cause. Cel. Thou hast not, cousin; Pr'ythee, be cheerful: know'st thou not, the duke Hath banish'd me his daughter? Ros. That he hath not. Cel. No? hath not? Rosalind lacks then the love Which teacheth thee that thou and I am one: Shall we be sunder'd? shall we part, sweet girl? No; let my father seek another heir. Therefore devise with me, how we may fly. Cel. To seek my uncle. Cel. I'll put myself in poor and mean attire, Were it not better, Ros. Because that I am more than common tall, That I did suit me all points like a man? A gallant curtle-axe2 upon my thigh, A boar-spear in my hand; and (in my heart Lie there what hidden woman's fear there will,) We'll have a swashing3 and a martial outside; As many other mannish cowards have, That do outface it with their semblances. Cel. What shall I call thee, when thou art a man? (1) A dusky, yellow-coloured earth. (2) Cutlass. (3) Swaggering. |