TOUCHSTONE.
Stand you both forth now: stroke your chins, and swear
by your beards that I am a knave.

CELIA.
By our beards, if we had them, thou art.

TOUCHSTONE.
By my knavery, if I had it, then I were: but if you swear by that
that is not, you are not forsworn: no more was this knight,
swearing by his honour, for he never had any; or if he had, he
had sworn it away before ever he saw those pancackes or that
mustard.

CELIA.
Pr'ythee, who is't that thou mean'st?

TOUCHSTONE.
One that old Frederick, your father, loves.

CELIA.
My father's love is enough to honour him enough: speak
no more of him: you'll be whipp'd for taxation one of these days.

TOUCHSTONE.
The more pity that fools may not speak wisely what
wise men do foolishly.

CELIA.
By my troth, thou sayest true: for since the little wit that