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Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you, when she was christened.

Jaq. What stature is she of?

Ori. Just as high as my heart.

Jaq. You are full of pretty answers: Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conned them out of rings?

Orl. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your questions.

Jaq. You have a nimble wit; I think it was made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against our mistress the world, and all our misery.

Orl. I will chide no breather in the world, but myself; against whom I know most faults. Jaq. The worst fault you have, is to be in love.

Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you.

Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool, when I found you.

Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.

Orl. Are you native of this place?

Ros. As the coney, that you see dwell where she is kindled.

Orl. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed* a dwelling. Ros. I have been told so of many but, indeed, an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inlandt man ; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it; and I thank God, I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy offences as he hath generally taxed their whole sex withal.

Orl. Can you remember any of the principal evils, that he laid to the charge of women?

Ros. There were none principal; they were all like one another, as halfpence are: every one fault seeming monstrous, till his fellow

Orl. He is drowned in the brook; look but fault came to match it. in, and you shall see him.

Jaq. There shall I see mine own figure. Orl. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cipher.

Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good signior love.

Orl. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good monsieur melancholy.

[Exit JAQUES.-CELIA and ROSALIND
come forward.

Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, and under that habit play the knave with him. -Do you hear, forester?

Orl. Very well; What would you?
Ros. I pray you, what is't a clock?
Orl. You should ask me, what time o'day;
there's no clock in the forest.

Ros. Then there is no true lover in the forest; else, sighing every minute, and groaning every hour, would detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock.

Orl. And why not the swift foot of time? had not that been as proper?

Ros. By no means, Sir: Time travels in divers paces with divers persons: I'll tell you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.

Orl. I pr'ythee, who doth he trot withal? Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, between the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemnized: if the interim be but a se'nnight, time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven years.

Orl. Who ambles time withal?

Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man that hath not the gout: for the one sleeps easily, because he cannot study; and the other lives merrily, because he feels no pain: the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning; the other knowing no bur⚫ den of heavy tedious penury: These time ambles withal.

Orl. Who doth he gallop withal? Ros. With a thief to the gallows: for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.

Orl. Who stays it still withal? Ros. With lawyers in the vacation: for they sleep between term and term, and then they perceive not how time moves.

Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth?

An allusion to the moral sentences on old tapestry hangings.

Orl. I pr'ythee, recount some of them. Ros. No: I will not cast away my physic, but on those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind: if I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. Orl. I am he that is so love shaked; I pray you, tell me your remedy.

Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you: he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes, I am sure, you are not prisoner.

Orl. What were his marks?

Ros. A lean cheek; which you have not: a blue eye, and sunken; which you have not: an unquestionable spirit; which you have not a beard neglected; which you have not: —but I pardon you for that; for, simply, your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue:

Then your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and every thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man; you are rather point-device in your accoutrements; as loving yourself, than seeming the lover of any other.

Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.

Ros. Me believe it? you may as soon make her that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do, than to confess she does : that is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired?

Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.

Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?

Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.

Ros. Love is merely a madness; and, I tell
you, deserves as well a dark house and a
whip, as madmen do: and the reason why
they are not so punished and cured, is, that
the lunacy is so ordinary, that the whippers
* Sequestered.
† Civilized.

A spirit averse to conversation.
Estate.

| Over-exact.

Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut, were to put good meat into an unclean dish.

are in love too: Yet I profess curing it by counsel.

He

Orl. Did you ever cure any so? Ros. Yes, one; and in this manner. was to imagine me his love, his mistress: and I set him every day to woo me: At which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking; proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every passion something, and for no passion truly any thing, as boys and women are for the most part cattle of this colour: would now like him, now loath him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love, to a living humour of madness; which was, to forswear the full stream of the world, and to live in a nook merely monastic: And thus I cured him; and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't.

Orl. I would not be cured, youth.

Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and come every day to my cote, and woo me.

Orl. Now, by the faith of my love, I will; tell me where it is.

Ros. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you: and, by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest you live: Will you go?

Orl. With all my heart, good youth. Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind :Come, sister, will you go? [Exeunt.

SCENE III.

Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES at a distance, observing them. Touch. Come apace, good Audrey; I will fetch up your goats, Audrey: And how, Audrey? am I the man yet? Doth my simple feature content you?

Aud. Your features! Lord warrant us! what features?

Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricioust poet, honest Övid, was among the Goths.

Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited!‡ worse than Jove in a thatch'd house! [Aside. Touch. When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward child, understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room:Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical.

it

Aud. I do not know what poetical is: Is honest in deed and word? Is it a true thing? Touch. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry; and what they swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers, they do feign.

Aud. Do you wish then, that the gods had made me poetical?

Touch. I do, truly; for thou swear'st to me, thou art honest; now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst feign.

Aud. Would you not have me honest? Touch. No, truly, unless thou wert hard favour'd: for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a sauce to sugar. Jaq. A material fool!) [Aside. Aud. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me honest!

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Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.*

Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will marry thee: and to that end, I have been with Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar of the next village; who hath promised to meet me in this place of the forest, and to couple us.

Jaq. I would fain see this meeting. [Aside. Aud. Well, the gods give us joy!

Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what though? Courage! As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is said,—many a man knows no end of his goods: right: many a man has good horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife, 'tis none of his own getting. Horns? Even so-Poor men alone;No, no; the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore blessed? No: as a wall'd town is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor: and by how much defence‡ is better than no skill, by so much is a horn more precious than to want.

Enter Sir OLIVER MARTEXT. Here comes Sir Oliver:-Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met: Will you despatch us here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel?

Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the wo

man?

Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. marriage is not lawful. Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the

Jaq. [Discovering himself.] Proceed, proceed; I'll give her.

call: How do you, Sir? You are very well Touch. Good even, good master What ye met: God'ild you for your last company: I here, Sir:-Nay; pray, be cover'd. am very glad to see you:-Even a toy in hand

Jaq. Will you be married, motley?

horse his curb, and the falcon her bells, so man Touch. As the ox hath his bow,|| Sir, the hath his desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.

Jaq. And will you, being a man of your gar? Get you to church, and have a good breeding, be married under a bush, like a begfellow will but join you together as they join priest that can tell you what marriage is: this wainscoat; then one of you will prove a shrunk pannel, and, like green timber, warp, warp.

ter to be married of him than of another: for Touch. I am not in the mind but I were betwell married, it will be a good excuse for me he is not like to marry me well; and not being hereafter to leave my wife. [Aside.

Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.

We must be married, or we must live in bawdry.
Touch. Come, sweet Audrey:
Farewell, good master Oliver!
Not-O sweet Oliver,
O brave Oliver,

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Leave me not behi' thee;

But-Wind away,
Begone, I say,

I will not to wedding wi' thee. [Exeunt Jaa. TOUCH. and AUDREY. Sir Oli. "Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical knave of them all shall flout me out of my calling. [Exit. SCENE IV.-The same.-Before a Cottage. Enter ROSALIND and CELIA. Ros. Never talk to me, I will weep. Cel. Do, I pr'ythee; but yet have the grace to consider, that tears do not become a man. Ros. But have I not cause to weep?

Cel. As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.

Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling co

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he was.

Cel. Was is not is: besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmers of false reckonings: He attends here in the forest on the duke your father.

Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much question* with him: He asked me, of what parentage I was: I told him, of as good as he; so he laugh'd, and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando?

Cel. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite traverse,| athwart the heart of his lover ;t as a puny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose; but all's brave that youth mounts, and folly guides:-Who comes here?

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Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you
If you will mark it.

Ros. O, come, let us remove; The sight of lovers feedeth those in love:Bring us unto this sight, and you shall say I'll prove a busy actor in their play. [Exeunt, SCENE V.-Another part of the Forest.

Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE.

Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not,
Phebe:

Say, that you love me not; but say not so
In bitterness: The common executioner,
Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death
makes hard,

Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck,
But first begs pardon; Will you sterner be
Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?
Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, at a dis-

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Some scar of it; lean but upon a rush
The cicatrice and capable impressure
Thy palm some moment keeps: but now mine
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not;
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes

eyes,

That can do hurt.

Sil. O dear Phebe,
If ever, (as that ever may be near,)
You meet in some fresh cheek the power of
fancy,*

Then shall you know the wounds invisible
That love's keen arrows make.

Phe. But, till that time,
Come not thou near me: and when that time

comes,

Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;
As, till that time, I shall not pity thee.
Ros. And why,I pray you? [Advancing.]Who
might be your mother,
That you insult, exult, and all at once,
Over the wretched? What though you have
more beauty,

(As, by my faith, I see no more in you
Than without candle may go dark to bed,)
Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? [me?
Why, what means this? Why do you look on
I see no more in you, than in the ordinary
Of nature's sale-work:-Od's my little life!
I think, she means to tangle my eyes too :-
No, 'faith, proud mistress, hope not after it.
'Tis not your inky brows, your black-silk hair,
Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship.-
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow

her,

* Love.

comes him :

[him
He'll make a proper man: The best thing in
Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue
Did make offence, his eye did heal it up.
He is not tall; yet for his years he's tall:
His leg is but so so: and yet 'tis well:
There was a pretty redness in his lip;
A little riper and more lusty red
Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the
difference

Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain? | But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride be
You are a thousand times a properer man,
Than she a woman: 'Tis such fools as you,[dren:
That make the world full of ill-favour'd chil-
"Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her;
And out of you she sees herself more proper,
Than any of her lineaments can show her.-
But, mistress, know yourself; down on your
knees,
[love:
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's
For I must tell you friendly in your ear,-
Sell when you can; you are not for all markets:
Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer;
Foul is most foul, being foul to be a scoffer.
So take her to thee, shepherd;-fare you well.
Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year
together;

I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo.
Ros. He's fallen in love with her foulness,
and she'll fall in love with my anger: If it be
so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning
looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words.-Why
look you so upon me?

Phe. For no ill will I bear you.

Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
For I am falser than vows made in wine:
Besides, I like you not: If you will know my
house,

'Tis at the tuft of olives, here hard by:-
Will you go, sister?-Shepherd, ply her hard :--
Come, sister:--Shepherdess, look on him better,
And be not proud: though all the world could
None could be so abus'd in sight as he. [see,
Come, to our flock.

[Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN. Phe. Dead shepherd! now I find thy saw of

might;

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Phe. Thou hast my love; Is not that neigh-
Sil. I would have you.

Phe. Why, that were covetousness.
Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee;
And yet it is not, that I bear thee love:
But since that thou canst talk of love so well,
Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,
I will endure; and I'll employ thee too:
But do not look for further recompense,
Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd.

Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my love,
And I in such a poverty of grace,
That I shall think it a most plenteous crop
To glean the broken ears after the man
That the main harvest reaps: loose now and
A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon. [then
Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to
me ere while?

Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft;
And he hath bought the cottage, and the bounds,
That the old carlot* once was master of.

Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for

him;

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Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask.
There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd
him

In parcels as I did, would have gone near
To fall in love with him: but, for my part,
I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet
I have more cause to hate him than to love him:
For what had he to do to chide at me?
He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair
black;

And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me :
I marvel, why I answer'd not again:
But that's all one; omittance is no quittance.
I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
And thou shalt bear it; Wilt thou, Silvius?
Sil. Phebe, with all my heart.
Phe. I'll write it straight;
The matter's in my head, and in my heart:
I will be bitter with him, and passing short:
Go with me, Silvius.
[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

SCENE 1.-The same.

Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and Jaques. Jaq. I pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee.

Ros. They say, you are a melancholy fellow. Jaq. I am so; I do love it better than laughing.

Ros. Those, that are in extremity of either, are abominable fellows; and betray themselves to every modern censure, worse than drunkards.

Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.
Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post.

Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier's, which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's, which is nice;* nor the lover's, which is all these but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects: and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me, is a most humorous sad

ness.

Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear, you have sold have seen much, and to have nothing, is to your own lands, to see other men's; then, to have rich eyes and poor hands.

Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience,

Enter ORLANDO.

had rather have a fool to make me merry, than
Ros. And your experience makes you sad: I
it too.
experience to make me sad; and to travel for

Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosa-
lind!

Jaq. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. [Exit.

* Triding.

Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller: Look, you lisp, and wear strange suits: disable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. 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 the 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: Besides, he brings his destiny with him.

Orl. What's that?

Ros. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to be beholden to your wives for: but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife.

Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.

Ros. And I am your Rosalind.

Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leert than you.

Ros. 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 (God warn us!) 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 mistress?

Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress; or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.

Orl. What, of my suit?

Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind?

Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her.

Ros. Well, in her person, I 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

|

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 might kill me.

Ros. 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. Then love me, Rosalind.

Ros. Yes, faith will I, Fridays, and Saturdays, and all.

Orl. And wilt thou have me?
Ros. Ay, and twenty such.
Orl. What say'st thou ?
Ros. Are you not good?
Orl. I hope so.

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 say, sister? Orl. Pray thee, marry us.

Cel. I cannot say the words.
Ros. You must begin,-Will you, Orlando,—
Cel. Go to:- 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. I might ask you for your commission; but, I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband: There a girl goes before the priest; and, certainly, a womans thought runs before her actions.

Orl. So do all thoughts: they are winged. Ros. Now tell me, how long you would 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. I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot against rain; more newfangled 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 hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep.

Orl. But will my Rosalind do so?
Ros. By my life, she will do as I do.
Orl. O, but she is wise.

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, 'twill 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.

Örl. And what wit could wit have to excuse

that?

Ros. Marry, to say,-she came to seek you but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and, there. You shall never take her without hes

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