out of all hooping!
Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am
caparisoned 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 concealed man
out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-
mouthed bottle, either too much at once, or none at
all. I prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth that
may drink thy tidings.
So you may put a man in your belly.
Is he of God's making? What manner of man? Is his
head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard?
Nay, he hath but a little beard.
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.
It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler's
heels and your heart both in an instant.
Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, sad brow and
true maid.
I' faith, coz, 'tis he.
Orlando?
Orlando.
Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and
hose? What did he when thou sawest him? What said
he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes
him 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.
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.
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 wrestled?
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 dropped acorn.
It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops
forth such fruit.
Give me audience, good madam.
Proceed.
There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight.
Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well
becomes the ground.
Cry 'holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets
unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter.
O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.
I would sing my song without a burden: thou bringest
me out of tune.