PlayShakespeare.com: The Ultimate Free Shakespeare Resource
PlayShakespeare.com: The Ultimate Free Shakespeare Resource
PlayShakespeare.com: The Ultimate Free Shakespeare Resource
PlayShakespeare.com: The Ultimate Free Shakespeare Resource

Scene Study (Female-Female)

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.

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.

CEL.

But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be hang’d and carv’d 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 palm tree. I was never so berhym’d since Pythagoras’ time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember.

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?

CEL.

O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be remov’d with earthquakes, and so encounter.

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!

ROS.

Good my complexion, dost thou think, though I am caparison’d 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 is it quickly, and speak apace. I would thou couldst stammer, that thou mightst pour this conceal’d man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-mouth’d 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.

CEL.

So you may put a man in your belly.

ROS.

Is he of God’s making? What manner of man? Is his head worth a hat? or his chin worth a beard?

CEL.

Nay, he hath but a little beard.

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 tripp’d up the wrastler’s heels, and your heart, both in an instant.

ROS.

Nay, but the devil take mocking. Speak sad brow and true maid.

CEL.

I’ faith, coz, ’tis he.

ROS.

Orlando?

CEL.

Orlando.

ROS.

Alas the day, what shall I do with my doublet and hose? What did he when thou saw’st him? What said he? How look’d 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.

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 wrastled?

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 dropp’d acorn.

ROS.

It may well be call’d Jove’s tree, when it drops such fruit.

CEL.

Give me audience, good madam.

ROS.

Proceed.

CEL.

There lay he, stretch’d 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 furnish’d like a hunter.

ROS.

O ominous! he comes to kill my heart.

CEL.

I would sing my song without a burden; thou bring’st 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?

ROS.

’Tis he. Slink by, and note him.

 

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