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SCENE IV. The Forest of Arden. Enter Rosalind in boy's clothes, CELIA drest like

a SHEPHERDESS, and TouchSTONE. Ros. O Jupiter! how wearyl are my spirits ! Touch. I care not for my spirits, if my legs were

not weary:

Ros. I could find in my heart to disgrace my man's apparel, and to cry like a woman : but I must comfort the weaker vessel, as doublet and hose ought to show itself courageous to petticoat: therefore, courage, good Aliena.

Cel. I pray you, bear with me; I cannot go no further. Touch. For my part, I had rather bear with

you, than bear you; yet I should bear no cross“, if I did bear you; for, I think, you have no money in your purse. Ros. Well, this is the forest of Arden.

Touch. Ay, now am I in Arden: the more fool I: when I was at home, I was in a better place; but travellers must be content.

Ros. Ay, be so, good Touchstone :-Look you, who comes here; a young man, and an old, in solemn talk.

Enter CORIN and Silvius.
Cor. That is the way to make her scorn you

still. Sil. O Corin, that thou knew'st how I do love her! Cor. I partly guess; for I have lov'd ere now.

Sil. No, Corin, being old, thou canst not guess; Though in thy youth thou wast as true a lover As ever sigh'd upon a midnight pillow:

1 The old copy reads merry; perhaps rightly. Rosalind's language as well as her dress may be intended to have an assumed character.

was a piece of money imped with a cross; on this Shakspeare often quibbles.

2 A cros

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But if thy love were ever like to mine
(As sure I think did never man love so),
How
many

actions most ridiculous
Hast thou been drawn to by thy fantasy?

Cor. Into a thousand that I have forgotten.

Sil. O, thou didst then ne'er love so heartily:
If thou remember'st not the slightest folly
That ever love did make thee run into,
Thou hast not lov'd :
Or if thou hast not sat as I do now,
Wearying thy hearer in thy mistress' praise,
Thou hast not lov’d:
Or if thou hast not broke from company,
Abruptly, as my passion now makes me,
Thou hast not lov’d: 0 Phebe, Phebe, Phebe!

[Erit SILVIUS. Ros. Alas, poor shepherd ! searching of thy wound, I have by hard adventure found mine own.

Touch. And I mine : I remember, when I was in love, I broke my sword upon a stone, and bid him take that for coming anight to Jane Smile: and I remember the kissing of her batlet 3, and the cow's dugs that her pretty chopp'd hands had milk’d: and I remember the wooing of a peascod4 instead of her; from whom I took two cods, and, giving her them again, said, with weeping tears, Wear these for my sake. We, that are true lovers, run into strange capers: but as all is mortal in nature, so is all nature in love mortal5 in folly.

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3 Batlet, the instrument with which washers beat clothes.

4 A peascod. This was the ancient term for peas growing or gathered, the cod being what we now call the pod. It is evident why Shakspeare uses the former word.

5 In the middle counties, says Johnson, they use mortal as a particle of amplification, as mortal tall, mortal little. So the meaning here may be abounding in folly.' VOL. III.

O

Ros. Thou speak’st wiser than thou art ’ware of.

Touch. Nay, I shall ne'er be 'ware of mine own wit, till I break my shins against it. Ros. Jove! Jove! this shepherd's passion

Is much upon my fashion. Touch. And mine; but it grows something stale

with me.
Cel. I pray you, one of you question yond man,
If he for gold will give us any food; ;
I faint almost to death.

Touch. Holla; you, clown!
Ros. Peace, fool: he's not thy kinsman.
Cor. Who calls ?
Touch. Your betters, sir.
Cor. Else are they very wretched.
Ros.

Peace, I say
Good even to you, friend.

Cor. And to you, gentle sir, and to you all.

Ros. I pr’ythee, shepherd, if that love, or gold,
Can in this desert place buy entertainment,
Bring us where we may rest ourselves, and feed :
Here's a young maid with travel much oppress’d,
And faints for succour.
Cor.

Fair sir, I pity her,
And wish for her sake, more than for mine own,
My fortunes were more able to relieve her:
But I am shepherd to another man,
And do not shear the fleeces that I graze;
My master is of churlish disposition,
And little recks 6 to find the

way

to heaven By doing deeds of hospitality : Besides, his cote?, his flocks, and bounds of feed, Are now on sale, and at our sheepcote now,

6 i. e. heeds, cares for. So in Hamlet :-' and recks not his own rede.'

? i. e. cot or cottage, the word is still used in its compound form, as sheepcote in the next line.

By reason of his absence, there is nothing
That
you

will feed on: but what is, come see, And in my voice8 most welcome shall you

be. Ros. What is he that shall buy his flock and pasture ? Cor. That young swain that you saw here but

erewhile, That little cares for buying any thing.

Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honesty, Buy thou the cottage, pasture, and the flock, And thou shalt have to pay for it of us.

Cel. And we will mend thy wages : I like this place, And willingly could waste my time in it.

Cor. Assuredly, the thing is to be sold: Go with me: if you like, upon report, The soil, the profit, and this kind of life, I will your very faithful feeder be, And buy it with your gold right suddenly. [Evennt.

SCENE V. The same.
Enter AMIENS, JAQUES, and others.

SONG.
Ami. Under the greenwood tree,

Who loves to lie with me,
And turn 1 his

merry

note
Unto the sweet birds throat,
Come hither, come hither, come hither:

Here shall he see
No

enemy, But winter and rough weather. 8 In my voice, as far as I have a voice or vote, as far as I have the power to bid you welcome.

1 The old copy reads: And turne his merry note,' which Pope altered unnecessarily to tune, the reading of all the modern editions. That the old copy was right appears from the following line in Hall's Satires, B. vi. S. 1:

· While threadbare Martial turns his merry note.' Steevens has justly observed, that to turn a tune or a note is still a current phrase among vulgar musicians.

Jaq. More, more, I pr’ythee, more.

Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur Jaques. Jaq. I thank it. More, I pr’ythee, more.

I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weazel sucks eggs: More, I pr’ythee, more.

Ami. My voice is ragged?; I know, I cannot please you,

Jaq. I do not desire you to please me, I do desire

you to sing : Come, more; another stanza: Call you

them stanzas? Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques.

Jaq. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing: Will you sing ?

Ami. More at your request, than to please myself.

Jaq. Well then, if ever I thank any man, I'll thank you: but that they call compliment, is like the encounter of two dog-apes; and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks, I have given him a penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks. Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your tongues.

Ami. Well, I'll end the song.Sirs, cover the while; the duke will drink under this tree !-he hath been all this day to look you.

Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too dispútable for my company: I think of as many matters as he; but I give heaven thanks, and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come.

SONG.
Who doth ambition shun, [All together here.
And loves to live ï the sun,
Seeking the food he eats,

And pleas'd with what he gets, ? Ragged and rugged had formerly the same meaning. So in Nashe's Apology of Pierce Pennilesse, 1593, I would trot a false gallop through the rest of his ragged verses.'

3 Dispútable, i. e, disputatious.

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