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. Enter. Orl. What passion hangs these waights vpo[n] my toong? I cannot speake to her, yet she vrg'd conference. Enter Le Beu. O poore Orlando! thou art ouerthrowne 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