William Shakespeare - William Shakespeare The Complete Works (37 plays, 160 sonnets and 5 Poetry Books With Active Table of Contents)

Ros. The little strength that I have, I would it were with you.

Cel. And mine, to eke out hers.

Ros. Fare you well; pray heaven I be deceiv’d in you!

Cel. Your heart’s desires be with you!

Cha. Come, where is this young gallant that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth?

Orl. Ready, sir, but his will hath in it a more modest working.

Duke F. You shall try but one fall.

Cha. No, I warrant your Grace, you shall not entreat him to a second, that have so mightily persuaded him from a first.

Orl. You mean to mock me after; you should not have mock’d me before. But come your ways.

Ros. Now Hercules be thy speed, young man!

Cel. I would I were invisible, to catch the strong fellow by the leg.

Wrastle.

Ros. O excellent young man!

Cel. If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down.

[Charles is thrown.] Shout.

Duke F. No more, no more.

Orl. Yes, I beseech your Grace, I am not yet well breath’d.

Duke F. How dost thou, Charles?

Le Beau. He cannot speak, my lord.

Duke F.

Bear him away. What is thy name, young man?

Orl. Orlando, my liege, the youngest son of Sir Rowland de Boys.

Duke F.

I would thou hadst been son to some man else:

The world esteem’d thy father honorable,

But I did find him still mine enemy.

Thou shouldst have better pleas’d me with this deed

Hadst thou descended from another house.

But fare thee well, thou art a gallant youth.

I would thou hadst told me of another father.

Exit Duke [with Train and Le Beau].

Cel.

Were I my father, coz, would I do this?

Orl.

I am more proud to be Sir Rowland’s son,

His youngest son, and would not change that calling

To be adopted heir to Frederick.

Ros.

My father lov’d Sir Rowland as his soul,

And all the world was of my father’s mind.

Had I before known this young man his son,

I should have given him tears unto entreaties,

Ere he should thus have ventur’d.

Cel.

Gentle cousin,

Let us go thank him, and encourage him.

My father’s rough and envious disposition

Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserv’d.

If you do keep your promises in love

But justly as you have exceeded all promise,

Your mistress shall be happy.

Ros.

Gentleman,

[Giving him a chain from her neck.]

Wear this for me: one out of suits with Fortune,

That could give more, but that her hand lacks means.

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 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.

¶

John Downman , p. — William Satchwell Leney , e.

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 your safest haste,

And get you from our court.

Ros.

Me, uncle?

Duke F.

You, cousin.

Within these ten days if that thou beest found

So near our public court as twenty miles,

Thou diest for it.

Ros.

I do beseech your Grace

Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me:

If with myself I hold intelligence,