Ros. I’ll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit i’ the country; for you’ll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that’s the 110 right virtue of the medlar.
Touch. You have said; but whether wisely or no, let [112] the forest judge.
Enter Celia, with a writing.
[113] Ros. Peace!
Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside.
Cel. [reads]
[115] Why should this a desert be?
For it is unpeopled? No;
Tongues I’ll hang on every tree,
That shall civil sayings show: