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Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
[Exeunt ROSALIND, Celia, and CORIN, R.
Phæbe. Sylvius, the time was that I hated thee.
Sylv. Not very well, but I have met him oft ;
Phæbe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him ;
Phæbe. I'll write it straight;
SCENE III.- The Forest.
Ros. (R.) Why, how now, Orlando ? where have you been all this while ? You a lover !- An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more.
Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.
Ros. Break an hour's promise in love ! He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part
of a thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o' the shoulder, but I warrant him heart-whole.
Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind !
Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight; I had as lief be wooed of a snail. Orl. Of a snail ?
Ros. Ay, of a snail ; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than you can make a woman.-Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour, and like enough to consent:- What would you say to me now, an I were your very, very Rosalind ?
Orl. I would kiss before I spoke.
Ros. Nay, you were better speak first; and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators—when they are out, they will spit; and, for lovers lacking matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.
Orl. How, if the kiss be denied ?
Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.
Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved mis tress?
Ros, Am I not your Rosalind ?
Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her. Ros. Well, in her. person,
say- -I will not have you.
Orl. Then, in mine own person, I die.
Ros. No, 'faith, die by attorney.. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he could to die before; and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot Midsummer night : for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and, being taken with the cramp, was drowned ; and the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was-Hero of Sestos. But these are all lies : men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.
Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind; for, I protest, her frown would kill me.
Enter Celia, R, Ros. (c.) By this hand, it will not kill a fly! But come, now I will be your Rosalind, in a more coming on disposition ; and ask me what you will, I will grant it.
Orl. (L. c.) Then love me, Rosalind. Ros. Yes, 'faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all.
Ori. And wilt thou have me?
Ros. Why, then, can one desire too much of a good thing ?--Come, sister, you shall be the priest, and marry us. -Give me your hand, Orlando :--What do you
Cel. (R.) I cannot say the words.
-Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind ?
Orl. I will. Ros. Ay, but when ? Orl. Why, now; as fast as she can marry us. Ros. Then you must say I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.
Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. Ros. Now, tell me how long would you have her after you have possessed her ?
Orl. For ever, and a day.
Ros. Say a day, without the ever; no, no, Orlando ; men are April when they woo, December when they wed; maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes, when they are wives. (Celia retires up the stage.] I will be more jealous of thee, than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot against rain ; more new-fangled than an ape; more giddy in my desires than a monkey; I will weep for nothing, like Diana, in the fountain, and I will do that, when you are disposed
to be merry: I will laugh like a hyena, and that, when you are inclined to sleep.
Orl. But, will my Rosalind do so ?
Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this ; the wiser, the waywarder : make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, it will fly with the smoke out at the chimney.
Orl. A man, that had a wife with such a wit, he might say-Wit, whither wilt ?
Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.
Ort. And what wit could wit have to excuse that? Ros. Marry, to say—she came to seek you there. You shall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. Oh, that wɔman, that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool!
Unpleasing to a married ear! Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.
Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours !
Orl., I must attend the duke at dinner ; by two o'clock I will be with thee again.
Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what you would prove! my friends told me as much, and I thought no less: that flattering tongue of yours won me; 'tis but one cast away, and so-come death. Two o'clock is your hour?
Orl, Ay, sweet Rosalind !
Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so, God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not danger
ous, if you break one jot of your promise, or come one : minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pa! thetical break-promise, and the most hollow lover, and
the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful : there. fore, beware my censure, and keep your promise.
Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind : so, adieu.
Ros. Well, time is the old justice, that examines all such offenders ; 'and let time try : Adieu !
[Exit ORJANDO, L. Cel. You have simply misused our sex in your loveprate.
Ros. (L.) O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded; my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the Bay of Portugal.
Cel. Or rather, bottomless ; that, as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out. Look who comes here !
Enter SYLVIUS, L.
(Giring a Letter.