Cel.
And mine to eeke out hers.
Ros.
Fare you well: praie heauen I be deceiu’d in you.
Cel.
Your hearts desires be with you.
Char.
Come, where is this yong gallant, that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth?
Orl.
Readie Sir, but his will hath in it a more modest working.
Duk.
You shall trie but one fall
Cha.
No, I warrant your Grace you shall not entreat him to a second, that haue so mightilie perswaded him from a first
Orl.
You meane to mocke me after: you should not haue mockt me before: but come your waies.
Ros.
Now Hercules, be thy speede yong man.
Cel.
I would I were inuisible, to catch the strong fellow by the legge.Wrastle.
Ros.
Oh excellent yong man.
Cel.
If I had a thunderbolt in mine eie, I can tell who should downe. {float right|Shout.}}
Duk.
No more, no more.
Orl.
Yes I beseech your Grace, I am not yet well breath’d.
Duk.
How do’st thou Charles?
Le Beu.
He cannot speake my Lord.
Duk.
Beare him awaie:
What is thy name yong man?
Orl.
Orlando my Liege, the yongest sonne of Sir Roland de Boys.
Duk.
I would thou hadst beene son to some man else,
The world esteem’d thy father honourable,
But I did finde him still mine enemie:
Thou should’st haue better pleas’d me with this deede,
Hadst thou descended from another house:
But fare thee well, thou art a gallant youth,
I would thou had’st told me of another Father.
Cel.
Were I my Father (Coze) would I do this?
Orl.
I am more proud to be Sir Rolands sonne,
His yongest sonne, and would not change that calling
To be adopted heire to Fredricke.
Ros.
My Father lou’d Sir Roland as his soule,
And all the world was of my Fathers minde,
Had I before knowne this yong man his sonne,
I should haue giuen him teares vnto entreaties,
Ere he should thus haue ventur’d.
Cel.
Gentle Cosen,
Let vs goe thanke him, and encourage him:
My Fathers rough and enuious disposition
Sticks me at heart: Sir, you haue well deseru’d,
If you doe keepe your promises in loue;
But iustly as you haue exceeded all promise,
Your Mistris shall be happie.
Ros.
Gentleman,
Weare this for me: one out of suites with fortune
That could giue more, but that her hand lacks meanes.
Shall we goe Coze?
Cel.
I: fare you well faire Gentleman.
Orl.
Can I not say, I thanke you? My better parts
Are all throwne downe, and that which here stands vp
Is but a quintine, a meere liuelesse blocke.
Ros.
He cals vs back: my pride fell with my fortunes,
Ile aske him what he would: Did you call Sir?
Sir, you haue wrastled well, and ouerthrowne
More then your enemies
Cel.
Will you goe Coze?
Ros.
Haue with you: fare you well. Exit.
Orl.
What passion hangs these waights vpo[n] my toong? I cannot speake to her, yet she vrg’d conference.
Enter Le Beu.
Or Charles, or something weaker masters thee.
Le Beu.
Good Sir, I do in friendship counsaile you
To leaue this place; Albeit you haue deseru’d
High commendation, true applause, and loue;
Yet such is now the Dukes condition,
That he misconsters all that you haue done:
The Duke is humorous, what he is indeede
More suites you to conceiue, then I to speake of.
Orl.
I thanke you Sir; and pray you tell me this,
Which of the two was daughter of the Duke,
That here was at the Wrastling?
Le Beu.
Neither his daughter, if we iudge by manners,
But yet indeede the taller is his daughter,
The other is daughter to the banish’d Duke,
And here detain’d by her vsurping Vncle
To keepe his daughter companie, whose loues
Are deerer then the naturall bond of Sisters:
But I can tell you, that of late this Duke
Hath tane displeasure’gainst his gentle Neece,
Grounded vpon no other argument,
But that the people praise her for her vertues,
And pittie her, for her good Fathers sake;
And on my life his malice’gainst the Lady
Will sodainly breake forth: Sir, fare you well,
Hereafter in a better world then this,
I shall desire more loue and knowledge of you.
Orl.
I rest much bounden to you: fare you well.
Thus must I from the smoake into the smother,
From tyrant Duke, vnto a tyrant Brother.
But heauenly Rosaline.Exit.
Scena Tertius.
Enter Celia and Rosaline.
Cel.
Why Cosen, why Rosaline: Cupid haue mercie,
Not a word?
Ros.
Not one to throw at a dog.
Cel.
No, thy words are too precious to be cast away vpon curs, throw some of them at me; come lame mee with reasons.
Ros.
Then there were two Cosens laid vp, 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 childes Father: Oh how full of briers is this working day world.
Cel.
They are but burs, Cosen, throwne vpon thee in holiday foolerie, if we walke not in the trodden paths our very petty-coates will catch them.
Ros.
I could shake them off my coate, these burs are in my heart.
Cel.
Hem them away.
Ros.
I would try if I could cry hem, and haue him.
Cel.
Come, come, wrastle with thy affections.
Ros.
O they take the part of a better wrastler then my selfe.
Cel.
O, a good wish vpon you: you will trie in time
