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Cha. I am heartily glad I came hither to you. If he come to-morrow, I’ll give him his payment. If ever he go alone again, I’ll never wrastle for prize more. And so God keep your worship!

Exit.

[Oli.] Farewell, good Charles. Now will I stir this gamester. I hope I shall see an end of him; for my soul (yet I know not why) hates nothing more than he. Yet he’s gentle, never school’d and yet learned, full of noble device, of all sorts enchantingly belov’d, and indeed so much in the heart of the world, and especially of my own people, who best know him, that I am altogether mispris’d. But it shall not be so long, this wrastler shall clear all. Nothing remains but that I kindle the boy thither, which now I’ll go about.

Exit.

¶

Enter Rosalind and Celia.

Cel. I pray thee, Rosalind, sweet my coz, be merry.

Ros. Dear Celia—I show more mirth than I am mistress of, and would you yet [I] were merrier? Unless you could teach me to forget a banish’d father, you must not learn me how to remember any extraordinary pleasure.