ROSALIND.
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 narrow-mouthed bottle—either too much at once or none at all. I prithee take the cork out of thy mouth that I may drink thy tidings.
CELIA.
So you may put a man in your belly.
ROSALIND.
Is he of God’s making? What manner of man? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard?
CELIA.
Nay, he hath but a little beard.
ROSALIND.
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.
CELIA.
It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler’s heels and your heart both in an instant.
ROSALIND.
Nay, but the devil take mocking! Speak sad brow and true maid.
CELIA.
I’ faith, coz, ’tis he.
ROSALIND.
Orlando?
CELIA.
Orlando.