Rof. From hencefore I will, Coz, and devise Sports: Ler me fee, what think you of falling in Love!

Cel. Marry, I prethee do, to make sport withal; but love no Man in good earneft, nor no further in Sport neither, than with fafety of a pure blush thou may'ft in Honour come off again.

Rof. What shall be the Sport then?

Cel. Let us fit and mock the good Housewife Fortune from her Wheel, that her Gifts may henceforth be bestowed equally.

Rof. I would we could do fo; for her Benefits are mightily misplaced, and the bountiful blind Woman doth moft miftake in her gifts to Women.

Cel. 'Tis true, for those that she makes honeft, fhe makes very ill-favouredly.

Rof. Nay, now thou goeft from Fortune's Office to Natures: Fortune reigns in Gifts of the World, not in the Lineaments of Nature.

Enter Clown.

Cel. No; when Nature hath made a fair Creature, may The not by Fortune fall into the Fire? Tho' Nature hath given us Wit to flout at Fortune, hath not Fortune fent in this Fool to cut off this Argument?

Rof. Indeed, Fortune is there too hard for Nature, when Fortune makes Nature's Natural, the cutter off of Nature's Wit.

Cel. Peradventure this is not Fortune's Work neither, but Nature's, who perceiving our natural Wits too dull to reason of fuch Goddeffes, hath fent this Natural for our Whetftone: For always the Dulnefs of the Fool, is the Whetstone of the Wits. How now, whither wander you?

Clo. Miftrefs, you must come away to your Father.
Cel. Were you made the Meffenger?

(you. Clo. No by mine Houour, but I was bid to come for Rof. Where learned you that Oath, Fool?

Clo. Of a certain Knight, that fwore by his Honour they were good Pancakes, and fwore by his Honour the Mustard was naught: Now I'll ftand to it, the Pancakes were naught, and the Muftand was good, and yet was not the Knight forfworn.

Cel. How prove you that in the great Heap of your Knowledge?

Rof. Ay marry, now unmuzzle your Wisdom.

Clo. Stand you both forth now; ftroke your Chins, and fwear by your Beards that I am a Knave.

Cel. By our Beards, if we had them, thou art.

Clo. By my Knavery, if I had it, then I were; but if you fwear by that that is not, you are not forfworn; no more was this Knight fwearing by his Honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he had fworn it away, before ever he faw thofe Pancakes, or that Muftard.

Cel. Prethee, who is that thou mean'ft?

Clo. One that old Fredrick your Father loves,

Rof. My Father's Love is enough to honour him enough; fpeak no more of him, you'll be whipt for Taxation one of thefe Days.

Clo. The more pity that Fools may not speak wifely, what wife Men do foolishly.

Cel. By my Troth thou fay't true; for fince the little Wit that Fools have was filenc'd, the little Foolery that wife Men have makes a great Shew: Here comes (Monfieur

Le Beu.

Exter Le Beu.

Rof. With his Mouth full of News.

Cel. Which he will put on us, as Pigeons feed their Young.

Rof. Then fhall we be News-cram'd.

Cel. All the better, we shall be the more marketable. Bon-jour Monfieur le Ben, what News?

Le Ben. Fair Princefs,

You have loft much Sport.

Cel, Sport; of what Colour?

Le Beu. What Colour, Madam? How fhall I answer

Cel. Well faid, that was laid on with a Trowel.
Clo. Nay, if I keep not my Rank

Rof. Thou lofeft thy old Smell.

Le Beu. You amafe me, Ladies: I would have told of good Wrestling, which you have loft the Sight of.

you

Rof.

Rofa. Yet tell us the manner of the Wrestling.

Le Beu. I will tell you the Beginning, and if it please your Ladyships, you may fee the End, for the beft is yet to do, and here where you are, they are coming to perform

it.

Cel. Well, the beginning that is dead and buried.

Le Ben. There comes an old Man and his three Sons. Cel. I would match this beginning with an old Tale. Le Beu. Three proper young Men of excellent Growth and Prefence.

Rof. With Bills on their Necks: Be it known unto al! Men by these Presents.

Le Ben. The eldeft of the three wrestled with Charles the Duke's Wreftler, which Charles in a Moment threw him, and broke three of his Ribs, that there is little Hope of Life in him: So he ferv'd the fecond, and fo the third: Yonder they lye, the poor old Man their Father, making fuch pitiful Dole over them, that all the Beholders take his Part with weeping.

Rof. Alas.

Clo. But what is the Sport, Monfieur, that the Ladies have loft?

Le Beu. Why this is that I fpeak of.

Clo. Thus Men grow wifer every Day. It is the first time that ever I heard of breaking of Ribs was Sport for Ladies.

Cel. Or I, I promise thee.

Rof. But is there any elfe longs to fee this broken Mufick in his Sides? Is there yet another doats upon Rib-break. ing? Shall we fee this wrestling, Coufin?

Le Ben. You must if you ftay here, for here is the Place appointed for wrestling, and they are ready to perform

it.

Cel. Yonder, fure they are coming: Let us now ftay and fee it.

Flourish. Enter Duke Frederick, Lords, Orlando, Charles, and Attendants.

Duke. Come on, fince the Youth will not be entreated, His own Peril on his forwardness.

Rof. Is yonder the Man?

Le

Le Ben. Even he, Madam.

Cel. Alas, he is too young; yet he looks fuccessfully,
Duke. How now, Daughter and Coufin;
Are you crept hither to fee the Wrestling?

Rof. Ay, my Liege, fo please you give us leave.

Duke. You will take little Delight in it, I can tell you, there is fuch odds in the Man: In Pity of the Challenger's Youth, I would feign diffuade him, but he will not be entreated. Speak to him, Ladies, fee if you can move him. Cel. Call him hither, good Monfieur Le Beu.

Duke. Do fo; I'll not be by.

Le Ben. Monfieur the Challenger, the Princefs calls for you.

Orla. I attend her with all Refpect and Duty.

Rof. Young Man, have you challeng'd Charles the Wreftler?

Orla. No, fair Princefs; he is the General Challenger, I come but as others do, to try with him the Strength of my Youth.

Cel. Young Gentleman, your Spirits are too bold for your Years: You have feen cruel Proof of this Man's Strength. If you faw your felf with your own Eyes, or knew your felf with your Judgment, the fear of your Adventure would counfel you to a more equal Enterprife. We pray you for your own Sake to embrace your own Safety, and give over this *Attempt.

Rof. Do, young Sir, your Reputation fhall not therefore be mifprifed; we will make it our Suit to the Duke, that the Wrestling might not go forward.

Orla. I befeech you punish me not with your hard Thoughts, wherein I confefs me much guilty to deny fo fair and excellent Ladies any thing. But let your fair Eyes and gentle Wishes go with me to my Trial, wherein if I be foil'd, there is but one fham'd that was never Gracious; if kill'd, but one dead that is willing to be fo: I fhall do my Friends no wrong, for I have none to lament me; the the World no Injury, for in it I have nothing; only in the World I fill up a Place, which may be better fupply'd when I have made it empty.

Rof. The little Strength I have, I would it were with

you.

Cel. And mine to eek out hers.

Ref.

2

Rof. Fare you well; pray Heav'n I be deceiv'd in you.
Cel. Your Heart's Defires be with you.

Char. Come, where is this young Gallant, that is fo defirous to lye with his Mother Earth?

Orla. Ready Sir, but his Will hath in it a more modeft working.

Duke. You fhall try but one Fall.

Char. No, I warrant your Grace you fhall not entreat him to a fecond, that have fo mightily perfuaded him from a firft.

Orla. You mean to mock me after; you should not have mockt before; but come your ways.

Rof. Now Hercules be thy fpeed, young Man.

Cel. I would I were invifible, to catch the ftrong Fellow by the Leg. [They Wrestle.

Rof. O excellent young Man.

Cel. If I had a Thunderbolt in mine Eye, I can tell who fhould down.

Duke. No more, no more.

Shout.

[Charles is thrown.

Orla. Yes, I beseech your Grace, I am not yet well breathed.

Duke. How do'ft thou, Charles?

Le Beu. He cannot speak, my Lord.

Duke. Bear him away.

What is thy Name, young Man?

Orla. Orlando, my Liege, the youngest Son of Sir Row land de Boys.

Duke. I would thou hadst been Son to fome Man else; The World efteem'd thy Father honourable,

But I did find him ftill mine Enemy:

Thou should'st have better pleas'd me with this Deed,
Hadft thou defcended from another House.
But fare thee well, thou art a gallant Youth,

I would thou hadft told me of another Father.

[Exit Duke.
Cel. Were I my Father, Coz, would I do this?
Orla. I am more proud to be Sir Rowland's Son,
His youngest Son, and would not change that Calling
To be adopted Heir to Frederick.

Rof My Father lov'd Sir Rowland as his Sɔu',
And all the World was of my Father's Mind:
Had I before known this young Man his Son,