[011] Ros. No, some of it is for my child’s father. O, how full of briers is this working-day world!
Cel. They are but burs, cousin, thrown upon thee in holiday foolery: if we walk not in the trodden paths, our 015 very petticoats will catch them.
Ros. I could shake them off my coat: these burs are in my heart.
Cel. Hem them away.
Ros. I would try, if I could cry hem and have him.
020 Cel. Come, come, wrestle with thy affections.
Ros. O, they take the part of a better wrestler than myself!
Cel. O, a good wish upon you! you will try in time, in despite of a fall. But, turning these jests out of service, 025 let us talk in good earnest: is it possible, on such a sudden, [026] you should fall into so strong a liking with old Sir Rowland’s youngest son?
Ros. The Duke my father loved his father dearly.
Cel. Doth it therefore ensue that you should love his 030 son dearly? By this kind of chase, I should hate him, for my father hated his father dearly; yet I hate not Orlando.