on the Duke your father

Ros. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question
with him: he askt me of what parentage I was; I
told him of as good as he, so he laugh'd and let mee goe.
But what talke wee of Fathers, when there is such a man
as Orlando?
Cel. O that's a braue man, hee writes braue verses,
speakes braue words, sweares braue oathes, and breakes
them brauely, quite trauers athwart the heart of his louer,
as a puisny Tilter, y spurs his horse but on one side,
breakes his staffe like a noble goose; but all's braue that
youth mounts, and folly guides: who comes heere?
Enter Corin.

Corin. Mistresse and Master, you haue oft enquired
After the Shepheard that complain'd of loue,
Who you saw sitting by me on the Turph,
Praising the proud disdainfull Shepherdesse
That was his Mistresse

Cel. Well: and what of him?
Cor. If you will see a pageant truely plaid
Betweene the pale complexion of true Loue,
And the red glowe of scorne and prowd disdaine,
Goe hence a little, and I shall conduct you
If you will marke it

Ros. O come, let vs remoue,
The sight of Louers feedeth those in loue: