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. Prithee, 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 whipped 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. Enter 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; we shall be the more marketable. _Bonjour_, Monsieur Le Beau. What’s the news? LE BEAU. Fair princess, you have lost much good sport. CELIA. Sport! Of what colour? LE BEAU. What colour, madam? How shall I answer you? ROSALIND. As wit and fortune will. TOUCHSTONE. Or as the destinies decrees. CELIA. Well said. That was laid on with a trowel. TOUCHSTONE. Nay, if I keep not my rank— ROSALIND. Thou losest thy old smell. LE BEAU. You amaze me, ladies. I would have told you of good wrestling, which you have lost the sight of. ROSALIND. Yet tell us the manner of the wrestling. LE BEAU. I will tell you the beginning and, if it please your ladyships, you may see the end, for the best is yet to do; and here, where you are, they are coming to perform it. CELIA. Well, the beginning that is dead and buried. LE BEAU. There comes an old man and his three sons— CELIA. I could match this beginning with an old tale. LE BEAU. Three proper young men of excellent growth and presence. ROSALIND. With bills on their necks: “Be it known unto all men by these presents.” LE BEAU. The eldest of the three wrestled with Charles, the Duke’s wrestler, which Charles in a moment threw him and broke three of his ribs, that there is little hope of life in him. So he served the second, and so the third. Yonder they lie, the poor old man their father making such pitiful dole over them that all the beholders take his part with weeping. ROSALIND. Alas! TOUCHSTONE. But what is the sport, monsieur, that the ladies have lost? LE BEAU. Why, this that I speak of. TOUCHSTONE. Thus men may grow wiser every day. It is the first time that ever I heard breaking of ribs was sport for ladies. CELIA. Or I, I promise thee. ROSALIND. But is there any else longs to see this broken music in his sides? Is there yet another dotes upon rib-breaking? Shall we see this wrestling, cousin? LE BEAU. You must if you stay here, for here is the place appointed for the wrestling, and they are ready to perform it.