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Celia. I'll put myself in poor and mean

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Because that I am more than common tall, That I did suit me all points like a man? A gallant curtle-axe upon my thigh,

A boar-spear in my hand; and—in my heart

Lie there what hidden woman's fear there

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As many other mannish cowards have That do outface it with their semblances. Celia. What shall I call thee when thou art a man?

Rosalind. I'll have no worse a name than Jove's own page;

And therefore look you call me Ganymede. But what will you be call'd?

Celia. Something that hath a reference to my state:

No longer Celia, but Aliena.

Rosalind. But, cousin, what if we assay'd to steal

The clownish fool out of your father's

court?

Would he not be a comfort to our travel? Celía. He'll go along o'er the wide world

with me;

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