As You Like It | Page 5

ever he go alone again I'll never wrestle for prize more: and so, God keep your worship!
[Exit.]
OLIVER.?Farewell, good Charles.--Now will I stir this gamester: I?hope I shall see an end of him: for my soul, yet I know not why, hates nothing more than he. Yet he's gentle; never schooled and yet learned; full of noble device; of all sorts enchantingly beloved; and, indeed, so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am?altogether misprised: but it shall not be so long; this?wrestler shall clear all: nothing remains but that I kindle the boy thither, which now I'll go about.
[Exit.]
SCENE II. A Lawn before the DUKE'S Palace.
[Enter ROSALIND and CELIA.]
CELIA.?I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.
ROSALIND.?Dear Celia, I show more mirth than I am mistress of; and would you yet I were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banished father, you must not learn me how to remember any?extraordinary pleasure.
CELIA.?Herein I see thou lov'st me not with the full weight that I love thee; if my uncle, thy banished father, had banished thy uncle, the duke my father, so thou hadst been still with me, I could have taught my love to take thy father for mine; so wouldst thou, if the truth of thy love to me were so righteously tempered as mine is to thee.
ROSALIND.?Well, I will forget the condition of my estate, to rejoice in yours.
CELIA.?You know my father hath no child but I, nor none is like to have; and, truly, when he dies thou shalt be his heir: for what he hath taken away from thy father perforce, I will render thee again in affection: by mine honour, I will; and when I break that oath, let me turn monster; therefore, my sweet Rose, my dear Rose, be merry.
ROSALIND.?From henceforth I will, coz, and devise sports: let me see; what think you of falling in love?
CELIA.?Marry, I pr'ythee, do, to make sport withal: but love no man in good earnest, nor no further in sport neither than with?safety of a pure blush thou mayst in honour come off again.
ROSALIND.?What shall be our sport, then?
CELIA.?Let us sit and mock the good housewife Fortune from her?wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.
ROSALIND.?I would we could do so; for her benefits are mightily?misplaced: and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women.
CELIA.?'Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce makes?honest; and those that she makes honest she makes very?ill-favouredly.
ROSALIND.?Nay; now thou goest from Fortune's office to Nature's: Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of Nature.
CELIA.?No; when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by?Fortune fall into the fire?--Though Nature hath given us wit to flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument?
[Enter TOUCHSTONE.]
ROSALIND.?Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when?Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of Nature's wit.
CELIA.?Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but?Nature's, who perceiveth our natural wits too dull to reason of such goddesses, and hath sent this natural for our whetstone: for always the dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits.-- How now, wit? whither wander you?
TOUCHSTONE.?Mistress, you must come away to your father.
CELIA.?Were you made the messenger?
TOUCHSTONE.?No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you.
ROSALIND.?Where learned you that oath, fool?
TOUCHSTONE.?Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they were?good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught: now, I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught and the?mustard was good: and yet was not the knight forsworn.
CELIA.?How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge?
ROSALIND.?Ay, marry; now unmuzzle your wisdom.
TOUCHSTONE.?Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear?by your beards that I am a knave.
CELIA.?By our beards, if we had them, thou art.
TOUCHSTONE.?By my knavery, if I had it, then I were: but if you swear by that that is not, you are not forsworn: no more was this knight, swearing by his honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he had sworn it away before ever he saw those pancackes or that mustard.
CELIA.?Pr'ythee, who is't that thou mean'st?
TOUCHSTONE.?One that old Frederick, your father, loves.
CELIA.?My father's love is enough to honour him enough: speak?no more of him: you'll be whipp'd for taxation one of these days.
TOUCHSTONE.?The more pity that fools may not speak wisely what?wise men do foolishly.
CELIA.?By my troth, thou sayest true: for since the little wit that fools have was silenced, the little foolery that wise men?have makes a great show. Here comes Monsieur Le Beau.
ROSALIND.?With his mouth full of news.
CELIA.?Which he will put on us as pigeons feed their young.
ROSALIND.?Then shall we be news-crammed.
CELIA.?All the better;