Are all thrown down, and that which here stands up
[230] Is but a quintain, a mere lifeless block.
Ros. He calls us back: my pride fell with my fortunes;
I’ll ask him what he would. Did you call, sir?
Sir, you have wrestled well and overthrown
More than your enemies.
Cel.
Will you go, coz?
[235] Ros. Have with you. Fare you well. [Exeunt Rosalind and Celia.
Orl. What passion hangs these weights upon my tongue?