Shall we go, coz?

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 quintaine,1 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.

Will you go, coz ?

[Exeunt Ros. and Cel.

Ros. Have with you.-Fare you well.

Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my

tongue?

I cannot speak to her, yet she urged conference.

Re-enter LE BEAU.

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 deserved High commendation, true applause, and love; Yet such is now the duke's condition, 2 That he misconstrues all that you have done.

1 A post or butt set up for martial exercises.
2 Temper, disposition.

The duke is humorous; 1 what he is, indeed,
More suits you to conceive, than me 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 wrestling?

Le Beau. Neither his daughter, if we judge by

manners;

But yet, indeed, the shorter 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 well:
Hereafter, in a better world than this,

you

I shall desire more love and knowlege 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.

1 Capricious.

SCENE III.

A room in the palace.

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 lamed 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 holyday 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 despite of a fall.-But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest.

Is it