Cel.

I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet coz, be merry.

Ros.

Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banish'd father, you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.

Cel.

Herein I see thou lov'st me not with the full weight that I love thee. If my uncle, thy banish'd father, had banish'd thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine; so would'st thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously temper'd, as mine is to thee.

Ros.

Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours.

Cel.

You know my father hath no child but me, nor none is like to have, and truly when he dies thou shalt be his heir; for what he hath taken away from thy father, per force, I will render thee again, in affection; by mine honour I will, and when I break that oath, let me turn monster: therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.† ^note

Ros.

From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports. Let me see, what think you of falling in love?

Cel.

Marry, I pr'ythee do, to make sport withal; but love no man in good earnest, nor no further in sport neither, than with safety of a pure blush thou may'st in honour come off again.

Ros.

What shall be the sport, then?

Cel.

Let us sit and mock the good housewife, fortune, from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.

Ros.

I would we could do so; for her benefits are mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to woman.

Cel.

'Tis true, for those that she makes fair, she scarce makes honest; and those that she makes honest, she makes very ill-favoured.

Ros.

Nay, now thou go'st from fortune's office, to nature's: fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of nature.

Cel.

No; when nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by fortune fall into the fire? though nature hath given us wit to flout at fortune, hath not fortune sent in this fool to cut off this argument?* ^note

Ros.

Indeed, there is fortune too hard for nature.

Cel.

Peradventure this is not fortune's work neither, but nature's; who perceiving our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, hath sent this natural for our whetstone: for always the dulness of the fool, is the whetstone of the wits.

How now, whither wander you?

Touch.

Mistress, you must come away to your father.

Cel.

Were you made the messenger?

Touch.

No, by mine honour, but I was bid to come for you.

Ros.

Where learned you that oath, fool?

Touch.

Of a certain knight, that swore by his honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was nought. Now I'll stand to it, the pancakes were nought, and the mustard was good, and yet was not the knight forsworn.

Cel.

How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge?

Ros.

Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom.

Touch.

Stand you both forth now, stroke your chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave.

Cel.

By our beards, if we had them, thou art.

Touch.

By my knavery, if I had it, then I were; but if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn, no more was this knight, swearing by his honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away, before ever he saw those pancakes, or that mustard.† ^note

Cel.

Here comes monsieur Le Beu.

Ros.

With his mouth full of news.

Cel.

Which he will put on us, as pigeons feed their young.

Ros.

Then shall we be news-cram'd.

Cel.

All the better, we shall be the more marketable. Bon jour, monsieur Le Beu, what news?

Le Beu.

Fair princesses, you have lost much sport.

Cel.

Sport; of what colour?

Le Beu.

What colour, madam? How shall I answer you?

Ros.

As wit and fortune will.

Touch.

Or as the destinies decree.

Cel.

Well said, that was laid on with a trowel.

Le Beu.

You amaze me, ladies! I would have told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of.

Ros.

Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling.

Le Beu.

I will tell you the beginning, and if it please your ladyships, you may see the end; for the best is yet to do; and here where you are, they are coming to perform it.

Cel.

Well, the beginning, that is dead and buried.

Le Beu.

There comes an old man and his three sons.

Cel.

I could match this beginning with an old tale.

Le Beu.

Three proper young men, of excellent growth and presence.

Ros.

With bills on their neck: Be it known unto all men, by these presents.

Le Beu.

The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the duke's wrestler, which Charles in a moment threw him, and broke three of his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him: so he serv'd the second, and so the third: yonder they lie, the poor old man their father making such pitiful dole over them, that all the beholders take his part with weeping.

Ros.

Alas!

Touch.

But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have lost?* ^note

Le Beu.

Why this that I speak of.

Touch.

Thus men grow wiser, every day. It is the first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies.

Cel.

Or I, I promise thee.

Ros.

But is there any else longs to see this broken music in his sides? Is there yet another doats upon rib-breaking? Shall we see this wrestling, cousin?

Le Beu.

You must if you stay here; for here is the place appointed for the wrestling; and they are ready to perform it.

Cel.

Yonder sure they are coming: let us now stay and see it.

Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, Orlando, Charles, and Attendants.

Duke.

Come on; since the youth will not be entreated, his own peril on his forwardness.

Ros.

Is yonder the man?

Le Beu.

Even he, madam.

Cel.

Alas, he's too young; yet he looks successfully.

Duke.

How now, daughter and cousin; are you crept hither to see the wrestling?

Ros.

Ay, my liege, so please you give us leave.

Duke.

You will take little delight in it, I can tell you, there's such odds in the men. In pity of the challenger's youth, I would fain dissuade him, but he will not be entreated. Speak to him, ladies; see if you can move him.

Cel.

Call him hither, good monsieur Le Beu.

Duke.

Do so; I'll not be by.

Le Beu.

Monsieur the challenger, the princess calls for you.

Orla.

I attend her, with all respect and duty.

Ros.

Young man, have you challeng'd Charles the wrestler?* ^note

Orla.

No, fair princess; he is the general challenger: I come but, as others do, to try with him the strength of my youth.

Cel.

Young gentleman, your spirits are too bold, for your years: you have seen cruel proof of this man's strength. If you saw yourself with our eyes, or knew yourself with our judgment, the fear of your adventure would counsel you to a more equal enterprise. We pray you, for your own sake, to embrace your own safety, and give over this attempt.

Ros.

Do, young sir, your reputation shall not therefore be misprised; we will make it our suit to the duke, that the wrestling might not go forward.† ^note

Orla.

I beseech you, punish me not with your hard thoughts, wherein I confess me much guilty to deny so fair and excellent ladies any thing: but let your fair eyes and gentle wishes go with me to the trial, wherein if I be foil'd, there is but one sham'd that was never gracious; if kill'd, but one dead that is willing to be so. I shall do my friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me; the world no injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the world I fill up a place, which may be better supplied when I have make it empty.‡ ^note

Ros.

The little strength that I have, I would it were with you.

Cel.

And mine to eke out hers.

Ros.

Fare you well; pray heaven I be deceiv'd in you.

Orla.

Your heart's desires be with you.

Cha.

Come, where is this young gallant, that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth?

Orla.

Ready, sir.

Duke.

You shall try but one fall.

Cha.

No, I warrant your grace, you shall not intreat him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first.

Orla.

You mean to mock me after; you should not have mock'd before. But come your ways.

Ros.

Now Hercules be thy speed, young man.

Cel.

I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg.

Duke.

No more, no more.

Orla.

Yes, I beseech your grace; I am not yet well breath'd.

Duke.

How dost thou, Charles?

Touch.

He cannot speak, my lord.

Duke.

Bear him away. What is thy name, young man?

Orla.

Orlando, my liege, the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Bois.

Duke.
I would thou hadst been son to some man else;
The world esteem'd thy father honourable,
But I did find him still mine enemy.
But fare thee well, thou art a gallant youth,
I would thou had'st told me of another father.* ^note [Exit Duke, &c.

Cel.
Were I my father, coz, would I do this?

Orla.
I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's son,
His youngest son, and would not change that calling
To be adopted heir to Frederick.

Ros.
My father lov'd Sir Rowland as his soul,
And all the world was of my father's mind:
Had I before known this young man, his son,
I should have given him tears unto entreaties,
Ere he should thus have ventur'd.† ^note

Cel.
Gentle cousin,
Let us go thank him, and encourage him.
My father's rough and envious disposition
Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserv'd:
If you do keep your promises in love,
But justly as you have exceeded all in promise,
Your mistress shall be happy.

Ros.
Gentleman,
Wear this for me, one out of suits with fortune,
That would give more, but that her hand lacks means.
Shall we go, coz?

Cel.
Ay, fare you well, fair gentleman.

Orla.
Can I not say, I thank you? My better parts
Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up,
Is but a mere lifeless block.&verbar2; ^note

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.
Will you go, coz?

Ros.
Have with you: fare you well. [Exeunt Ros. and Cel.

Orla.
What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?
I cannot speak to her; yet she urg'd conference. Enter Le Beu.
O poor Orlando! thou art overthrown;
Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee.

Le Beu.
Good sir, I do in friendship counsel you
To leave this place: albeit you have deserv'd
High commendation, true applause, and love;
Yet such is now the duke's condition,
That he misconstrues all that you have done.
The duke is humourous: what he is indeed
More suits you to conceive, than me to speak of.

Orla.
I thank you, sir; and pray you tell me this,
Which of the two was daughter of the duke,
That here was at the wrestling?

Le Beu.
Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners,
But yet, indeed, the shorter is his daughter;* ^note

Sir, fare you well;
Hereafter, in a better world than this,
I shall desire more love and knowledge of you. [Exit.

Orla.
I rest much bounden to you: fare you well!
Thus must I from the smoke into the smother;
From tyrant duke, unto a tyrant brother;
But heavenly Rosalind! [Exit.

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