_Cel._ They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery: if we walk not in the trodden paths, our very petticoats will catch them. 15 _Ros._ I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my heart. _Cel._ Hem them away. _Ros._ I would try, if I could cry hem and have him. _Cel._ Come, come, wrestle with thy affections. 20 _Ros._ O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself! _Cel._ O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in despite of a fall. But, turning these jests out of service, let us talk in good earnest: is it possible, on such a sudden, 25 you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland’s youngest son? _Ros._ The Duke my father loved his father dearly. _Cel._ Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for 30 my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando. _Ros._ No, faith, hate him not, for my sake. _Cel._ Why should I not? doth he not deserve well? _Ros._ Let me love him for that, and do you love him because I do. Look, here comes the Duke. 35 _Cel._ With his eyes full of anger. _Enter_ DUKE FREDERICK, _with_ Lords. _Duke F._ Mistress, dispatch you with your safest haste And get you from our court. _Ros._ Me, uncle? _Duke F._ You, cousin: Within these ten days if that thou be’st found So near our public court as twenty miles, 40 Thou diest for it. _Ros._ I do beseech your Grace, Let me the knowledge of my fault bear with me: If with myself I hold intelligence, Or have acquaintance with mine own desires; If that I do not dream, or be not frantic,— 45 As I do trust I am not,—then, dear uncle, Never so much as in a thought unborn Did I offend your Highness. _Duke F._ Thus do all traitors: If their purgation did consist in words, They are as innocent as grace itself: 50 Let it suffice thee that I trust thee not. _Ros._ Yet your mistrust cannot make me a traitor: Tell me whereon the likelihood depends. _Duke F._ Thou art thy father’s daughter; there’s enough. _Ros._ So was I when your Highness took his dukedom; 55 So was I when your Highness banish’d him: Treason is not inherited, my lord; Or, if we did derive it from our friends, What’s that to me? my father was no traitor: Then, good my liege, mistake me not so much 60 To think my poverty is treacherous. _Cel._ Dear sovereign, hear me speak. _Duke F._ Ay, Celia; we stay’d her for your sake, Else had she with her father ranged along.