SCENE VI.
Cel.
Didst thou hear these verses?
Ros.
O yes, I heard them all, and more too; for
some of them had in them more feet than the verses
would bear.
Cel.
That's no matter; the feet might bear the
verses.
Ros.
Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not
bear themselves without the verse, and therefore stood
lamely in the verse.
Cel.
But didst thou hear, without wondring how
thy name should be hang'd and carv'd upon these
trees?
Ros.
I was seven of the nine days out of wonder,
before you came; for, look here, what I found on a
palm-tree; 2 note
I was never so be-rhimed since Pythagoras's
time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly
remember.
Cel.
Trow you, who hath done this?
Ros.
Is it a man?
-- 56 --
Cel.
And a chain, that you once wore, about his
neck: Change you colour?
Ros.
I pr'ythee, who?
Cel.
O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends
to meet; but mountains may be remov'd with earthquakes,
and so encounter.
Ros.
Nay, but who is it?
Cel.
Is it possible?
Ros.
Nay, I pr'ythee now, with most petitionary
vehemence, tell me who it is.
Cel.
O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful
wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that
out of all whooping—
Ros.
3 noteGood my complexion! dost thou think,
though I am caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet
and hose in my disposition? 4 note
One inch of delay more
is a South-sea of discovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, who
is it; quickly, and speak apace; I would thou couldst
stammer, that thou might'st pour this concealed man
out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd
bottle; either too much at once, or none at
-- 57 --
all. I pr'ythee take the cork out of thy mouth, that
I may drink thy tidings.
Cel.
So you may put a man in your belly.
Ros.
Is he of God's making? what manner of
man? is his head worth a hat? or his chin worth a
beard?
Cel.
Nay, he hath but a little beard.
Ros.
Why, God will send more, if the man will
be thankful; let me stay the growth of his beard, if
thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin.
Cel.
It is young Orlando, that tripp'd up the wrestler's
heels and your heart both in an instant.
Ros.
Nay, but the devil take mocking; speak, sad
brow, and true maid.
Cel.
I'faith, coz, 'tis he.
Ros.
Orlando!
Cel.
Orlando.
Ros.
Alas the day, what shall I do with my doublet
and hose? what did he, when thou saw'st him? what
said he? how look'd he? wherein went he? what
makes he here? did he ask for me? where remains he?
how parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him
again? answer me in one word.
Cel.
You must borrow me Garagantua's5 note mouth
first; 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's
size. To say, ay, and no, to these particulars, is more
than to answer in a catechism.
Ros.
But doth he know that I am in this Forest, and
in man's apparel? looks he as freshly as he did the
day he wrestled?
Cel.
It is as easy to count atoms, as to resolve the
propositions of a lover: but take a taste of my finding
-- 58 --
him, and relish it with good observance. I found
him under a tree like a dropp'd acorn.6 note
Ros.
It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops
forth such fruit.
Cel.
Give me audience, good Madam.
Ros.
Proceed.
Cel.
There lay he stretch'd along like a wounded
Knight.
Ros.
Tho' it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes
the ground.
Cel.
Cry, holla! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee; it curvets
unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter.
Ros.
Oh, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.
Cel.
I would sing my song without a burden; thou
bring'st me out of tune.
Ros.
Do you not know I am a woman? when I
think, I must speak—Sweet, say on.
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].