ROSALIND

Celia. Didst thou hear these verses?

Rosalind. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear.

Celia. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses. Rosalind. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse.

Celia. But did'st thou hear, without wondering how thy name should be hang'd and carv'd upon these trees?

Rosalind. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder, before you came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree: I never was so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember.

Celia. Trow you, who hath done this?

Rosalind. Is it a man?

Celia. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck: Change colour?

you

Rosalind. I pr'ythee, who?

Celia. O lord, lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet, but mountains may be removed with earthquakes, and so encounter.

Rosalind. Nay, but who is it?

Celia. Is it possible?

Rosalind. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is?

Celia. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all whooping?

Rosalind. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? 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 mightst 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 all. I pr'ythee take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings.

AS YOU LIKE IT. - Act 111. Scene 11.

CELIA.

Celia. Why, cousin; why, Rosalind ;-Cupid, have mercy!-Not a word?

Rosalind. Not one to throw at a dog.

Celia. No, thy words are too precious to be cast away upon curs, throw some of them at me; come, lame me with reasons.

Rosalind. Then there were two cousins laid up; when the one should be lamed with reasons, and the other mad without any.

Celia. But is all this for your father?

Rosalind. No, some of it for my child's father. O, how full of briars is this working-day world!

Celia. 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.

Rosalind. I could shake them off my coat; these burs are in my

heart.

Celia. Hem them away.

Rosalind. I would try: if I could cry hem, and have him.

Celia. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.

Rosalind. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself. Celia. 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?

Rosalind. The duke my father loved his father dearly.

Celia. 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.

Rosalind. No 'faith, hate him not, for my sake.

Celia. Why should I not? doth he not deserve well?

Rosalind. Let me love him for that; and do you love him, because

I do :-Look, here comes the duke.

Celia. With his eyes full of anger.

AS YOU LIKE IT.-Act I. Scene III.