CELIA. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses.
ROSALIND. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear
themselves
without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse.
CELIA. But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name
should be
hang'd and carved upon these trees?
ROSALIND. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before
you
came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree. I was never
so
berhym'd since Pythagoras' time that I was an Irish rat,
which I
can hardly remember.
CELIA. Trow you who hath done this?
ROSALIND. Is it a man?
CELIA. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck.
Change you colour?
ROSALIND. I prithee, who?
CELIA. O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet;
but
mountains may be remov'd with earthquakes, and so encounter.
ROSALIND. Nay, but who is it?
CELIA. Is it possible?
ROSALIND. Nay, I prithee now, with most petitionary vehemence,
tell
me who it is.
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