all thrown down, and that which here stands up
Is but a quintain, a mere liveless 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 wrastled well, and overthrown
More than your enemies.
Cel.
Will you go, coz?
Ros.
Have with you.—Fare you well.
Exit [with Celia].
Orl.
What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?
I cannot speak to her, yet she urg’d conference.
Enter Le Beau.
O poor Orlando! thou art overthrown,
Or Charles, or something weaker, masters thee.
Le Beau.
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 misconsters all that you have done.
The Duke is humorous—what he is indeed
More suits you to conceive than I to speak of.
Orl.
I thank you, sir; and pray you tell me this:
Which of the two was daughter of the Duke,
That here was at the wrastling?
Le Beau.
Neither his daughter, if we judge by manners,
But yet indeed the [smaller] is his daughter.
The other is daughter to the banish’d Duke,
And here detain’d by her usurping uncle
To keep his daughter company, whose loves
Are dearer than the natural bond of sisters.
But I can tell you that of late this Duke
Hath ta’en displeasure ’gainst his gentle niece,
Grounded upon no other argument
But that the people praise her for her virtues,
And pity her for her good father’s sake;
And on my life his malice ’gainst the lady
Will suddenly break forth. Sir, fare you well.
Hereafter, in a better world than this,
I shall desire more love and knowledge of you.
Orl.
I rest much bounden to you; fare you well.
[Exit Le Beau.]
Thus must I from the smoke into the smother,
From tyrant Duke unto a tyrant brother.
But heavenly Rosalind!
Exit.
¶
Scene III
Enter Celia and 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 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. 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, wrastle with thy affections.
Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrastler than myself!
Cel. O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in despite 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.
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; yet I hate not Orlando.
Ros. No, faith, hate him not, for my sake.
Cel. Why should I not? Doth he not deserve well?
Enter Duke [Frederick] with Lords.
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.
Duke F.
Mistress, dispatch you with
