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Ros. What shall be our sport then?

Cel. Let us sit and mock the good huswife Fortune from her wheel, that her gifts may henceforth be bestow’d equally.

Ros. I would we could do so; for her benefits are mightily misplac’d, and the bountiful blind woman doth most mistake in her gifts to women.

Cel. ’Tis true, for those that she makes fair she scarce makes honest, and those that she makes honest she makes very ill-favoredly.

Ros. Nay, now thou goest from Fortune’s office to Nature’s. Fortune reigns in gifts of the world, not in the lineaments of Nature.

Enter Clown [Touchstone].

Cel. 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?

Ros. Indeed there is Fortune too hard for Nature, when Fortune makes Nature’s natural the cutter-off of Nature’s wit.

Cel. 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?