_Cha._ Come, where is this young gallant that is so desirous to lie with his mother earth? 180 _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 185 a first. _Orl._ You mean to mock me after; you should not have mocked 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 190 by the leg. [_They wrestle._ _Ros._ O excellent young man! _Cel._ If I had a thunderbolt in mine eye, I can tell who should down. [_Shout. Charles is thrown._ _Duke F._ No more, no more. 195 _Orl._ Yes, I beseech your Grace: I am not yet well breathed. _Duke F._ How dost thou, Charles? _Le Beau._ He cannot speak, my lord. _Duke F._ Bear him away. What is thy name, young man? 200 _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 honourable, But I did find him still mine enemy: 205 Thou shouldst have better pleased 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. [_Exeunt Duke Fred., train, and Le Beau._ _Cel._ Were I my father, coz, would I do this? 210 _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 loved Sir Rowland as his soul, And all the world was of my father’s mind: 215 Had I before known this young man his son, I should have given him tears unto entreaties, Ere he should thus have ventured. _Cel._ Gentle cousin, Let us go thank him and encourage him: My father’s rough and envious disposition 220 Sticks me at heart. Sir, you have well deserved: 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, 225 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 lifeless block. 230 _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 wrestled well and overthrown More than your enemies. _Cel._ Will you go, coz?