The Complete Works of William Shakespeare - Israel Gollancz William Shakespeare [623]
Enter TOUCHSTONE
CELIA.
No; when Nature hath made a fair creature, may she not by Fortune fall into the fire? Though Nature hath given us wit to flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune sent in this fool to cut off the argument?
ROSALIND.
Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when
Fortune makes Nature's natural the cutter-off of Nature's wit.
CELIA.
Peradventure this is not Fortune's work neither, but
Nature's, who perceiveth our natural wits too dull to reason of
such goddesses, and hath sent this natural for our whetstone; for
always the dullness of the fool is the whetstone of the wits.
How now, wit! Whither wander you?
TOUCHSTONE.
Mistress, you must come away to your father.
CELIA.
Were you made the messenger?
TOUCHSTONE.
No, by mine honour; but I was bid to come for you.
ROSALIND.
Where learned you that oath, fool?
TOUCHSTONE.
Of a certain knight that swore by his honour they were good pancakes, and swore by his honour the mustard was naught. Now I'll stand to it, the pancakes were naught and the mustard was good, and yet was not the knight forsworn.
CELIA.
How prove you that, in the great heap of your knowledge?
ROSALIND.
Ay, marry, now unmuzzle your wisdom.
TOUCHSTONE.
Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear by your beards that I am a knave.
CELIA.
By our beards, if we had them, thou art.
TOUCHSTONE.
By my knavery, if I had it, then I were. But if you swear by that that 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 whipt 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-cramm'd.
CELIA.
All the better; we shall be the more marketable. Bon jour,
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 serv'd 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