Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, sad [200] brow and true maid.
Cel. I’ faith, coz, ’tis he.
Ros. Orlando?
Cel. Orlando.
Ros. Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet 205 and hose? What did he when thou sawest him? What said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word.
[210] Cel. You must borrow me Gargantua’s mouth first: ’tis a word too great for any mouth of this age’s size. To say [212] ay and no to these particulars is more than to answer in a catechism.
Ros. But doth he know that I am in this forest and in 215 man’s apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he [216] wrestled?
[217] Cel. It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him, [219] and relish it with good observance. I found him under a 220 tree, like a dropped acorn.
[221] Ros. It may well be called Jove’s tree, when it drops forth such fruit.
Cel. Give me audience, good madam.