Cel. Doth it therefore ensue, that you should love his son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando.
Ros. No ’faith, hate him not, for my sake.
Cel. Why should I not? Doth he not deserve well?
Ros. Let me love him for that; and do you love him, because I do: Look, here comes the duke.
Cel. With his eyes full of anger.
(Enter Duke Frederick, with Lords.)
Duke F. Mistress, despatch you with your safest haste, and get you from our Court.
Ros. Me, uncle?
Duke F. You, cousin, within these ten days if thou be’st found so near our public court as twenty miles, thou diest for it.