Ros. O most gentle Jupiter! What tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried, "Have patience, good people!" Cel. How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go off a little. Go with him, sirrah. 135 Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honorable retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. [Exeunt Corin and Touchstone. Cel. Didst thou hear these verses? Ros. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear. 142 Cel. That's no matter: the feet might bear the verses. Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame and could not bear themselves without the verse and therefore stood lamely in the verse. 146 Cel. But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be hanged and carved upon these trees? Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you came; for look here what I found on a palmtree. I was never so berimed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember. 152 Cel. Trow you who hath done this? Ros. Is it a man? Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck. Change you color? Ros. I prithee, who? 156 Cel. O Lord, Lord! it is hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes and so encounter. 160 Ros. Nay, but who is it? Cel. Is it possible? Ros. Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is. Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all hooping! 167 Ros. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South-sea of discovery; I prithee, tell me who it is 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-mouthed bottle, either too much at once, or none at all. I prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth that I may drink thy tidings. — Is he of God's making? What manner of man? worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard? Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard. Is his head 178 Ros. Why, God will send more, if the man will be thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. Cel. It is young Orlando that tripped up the wrestler's heels and your heart both in an instant. Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, sad brow and true maid. 186 Ros. Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose? What did he when thou sawest him? What said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word. 195 Cel. You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first: 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's size. To say ay and no to these particulars is more than to answer in a catechism. Ros. But doth he know that I am in this forest and in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled? 202 Cel. It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn. 206 Ros. It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit. Cel. Give me audience, good madam. Ros. Proceed. 210 Cel. There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight. Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground. Cel. Cry "holla " to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter. Ros. O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart. 216 Cel. I would sing my song without a burden: thou bringest me out of tune. Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. Cel. You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here? 221 |