TOUCHSTONE.
By my knavery, if I had it, then I were. But if you swear by that that is 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 whipped 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-crammed.