Page 1927 - Shakespeare - Vol. 2

And mine, but it grows something stale with me.

CELIA
I pray you, one of you question yond man, if he for gold will give us any food.
I faint almost to death. [60]

TOUCHSTONE
Holla, you clown!

ROSALIND
Peace fool, he’s not thy kinsman.

CORIN
Who calls?

TOUCHSTONE
Your betters sir.

CORIN
Else are they very wretched. [65]

ROSALIND
Peace, I say. Good even to you friend.

CORIN
And to you gentle sir, and to you all.

ROSALIND
I prithee shepherd, if that love or gold
Can in this desert place buy entertainment,

Bring us where we may rest ourselves and feed. [70]
Here’s a young maid with travel much oppress’d,
And faints for succour.

CORIN
Fair sir, I pity her,
And wish, for her sake more than for mine own,