Rosalind.
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 lam'd with Reasons, and the other
mad without any.
Cel.
But is all this for your father?
Ros.
No, some of it is for my father's child.2 note Oh,
how full of briars 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.
I 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 despight of a Fall.—But turning these jests
out of service, let us talk in good earnest. Is it 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.
-- 22 --
Cel.
Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love
his son dearly? by this kind of chase,3 note I should hate
him; for my father hated his father dearly; yet I
hate not Orlando.
Ros.
No, faith, hate him not, for my sake.
Cel.
Why should I? doth he not deserve well?
Samuel Johnson [1765], The plays of William Shakespeare, in eight volumes, with the corrections and illustrations of Various Commentators; To which are added notes by Sam. Johnson (Printed for J. and R. Tonson [and] C. Corbet [etc.], London) [word count] [S11001].
