Cel. ’Tis true; for those that she makes fair she scarce 035 makes honest; and those that she makes honest she makes [036] very ill-favouredly.
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 Touchstone.
[040] 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 [043] this fool to cut off the argument?
[044] Ros. Indeed, there is Fortune too hard for Nature, 045 when Fortune makes Nature’s natural the cutter-off of Nature’s wit.
Cel. Peradventure this is not Fortune’s work neither, [048] but Nature’s; who perceiveth our natural wits too dull to [049] reason of such goddesses, and hath sent this natural for our 050 whetstone; for always the dulness of the fool is the whetstone [051] of the wits. How now, wit! whither wander you?
Touch. Mistress, you must come away to your father.
Cel. Were you made the messenger?
Touch. No, by mine honour, but I was bid to come 055 for you.
Ros. Where learned you that oath, fool?