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This is the very false gallop of verses; why do you infect yourself with them?

Ros. Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a


TOUCH. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. Ros. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit in the country for you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar. TOUCH. You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge.

Ros. Peace!

Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside.

Enter CELIA, reading a paper.
CEL. Why should this a desert be?

For it is unpeopled? No;
Tongues I'll hang on every tree,
That shall civil sayings show.
Some, how brief the life of man
Runs his erring pilgrimage;
That the stretching of a span
Buckles in his sum of age.
Some, of violated vows

'Twixt the souls of friend and friend:

But upon the fairest boughs,

Or at every sentence' end,

Will I Rosalinda write;

bear themselves without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse.

CEL. But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be hanged and carved upon these trees?

Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree: I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember.

CEL. Trow you who hath done this?
Ros. Is it a man?

CEL. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck change you colour?

Ros. I pr'ythee, who?

CEL. O lord, lord! it is a hard matter for friends

and in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled?

CEL. It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the propositions of a lover :-but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn.

Ros. It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit.

CEL. Give me audience, good madam.
Ros. Proceed.

CEL. There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight.

Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground.

CEL. Cry, holla! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee; it curvets unseasonably. He was furnished like a

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DUKE F. Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is.

Teaching all that read, to know
The quintessence of every sprite
Heaven would in iittie show.
Therefore heaven nature charg'd
That one body should be fill'd
With all graces wide enlarg'd:
Nature presently distill'd
Helen's cheek, but not her heart;
Cleopatra's majesty,
Atalanta's better part,

Sad Lucretia's modesty.

Thus Rosalind of many parts

By heavenly synod was devis'd,

Of many faces, eyes, and hearts,

To have the touches dearest priz'd. Heaven would that she these gifts should have, And I to live and die her slave.

Ros. O most gentle Jupiter!-what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried, Have patience, good people!

CEL. How now! back friends;-shepherd, go off a little go with him, sirrah.

TOUCH. Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.

[Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE. CEL. Didst thou hear these verses? Ros. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear.

CEL. That's no matter; the feet might bear the


Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not

delay more is a South-sea of discovery. I pr'ythee, tell me who is it, quickly, and speak apace: I would thou couldst stammer, that thou mightst pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-mouthed bottle, -either too much at once, or not at all. I pr'ythee take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings.

CEL. So you may put a man in your belly. Ros. Is he of God's making? What manner of man? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard?

CEL. Nay, he hath but a little beard.

Ros. Why, God will send more, if the man will be thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin.

CEL. It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler's heels and your heart, both in an instant. Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking; speak sad brow and true maid.

CEL. I'faith, coz, 'tis he. Ros. Orlando?

CEL. Orlando.

Ros. Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose?-What did he, when thou sawest him? What said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word.

CEL. You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's size. To say ay and no, to these particulars, is more than to answer in a catechism.

Ros. But doth he know that I am in this forest,

Ros. O ominous! he comes to kill my heart. CEL. I would sing my song without a burden : thou bringest me out of tune.

Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on.

CEL. You bring me out.-Soft! comes he not here?

Ros. 'Tis he; slink by, and note him.

[CELIA and ROSALIND retire.


JAQ. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone.

ORL. And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too for your society.

JAQ. God be wi' you; let's meet as little as we

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she was christened.

JAQ. What stature is she of?

ORL. 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.

ORL. He is drowned in the brook; look but in and you shall see him.

JAQ. There I shall see mine own figure. ORL. Which I take to be either a fool or a cypher. JAQ. I'll tarry no longer with you; farewell, good signior Love. [Exit JAQUES. ORL. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good monsieur Melancholy.

[CELIA and ROSALIND come forward. Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lackey, 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 o'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,

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Time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of every day to woo me: at which time would I, being seven year.

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 burden 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?

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 inland 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 half-pence are: every one fault seeming monstrous, till his fellow fault came to match it.

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 fancymonger, 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 a 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 everything 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.

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 anything, as boys and women are for the most part cattle of this colour: would now like him, now loathe 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 loving 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.

dead than a great reckoning in a little room.Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical. AUD. I do not know what poetical is: is it 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 swearest 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-favoured; 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!

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

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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.-Another part of the Forest. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES behind 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?

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.
AUD. Well, the gods give us joy!
TOUCH. Amen.


fearful heart, stagger in this attempt; for here we A man may, if he were of a have no temple but the wood, no assembly but hornbeasts. 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 walled town is more worthier than a village, so JAQ. O knowledge ill-inhabited! worse than Jove is the forehead of a married man more honourable in a thatched house! [Aside. than the bare brow of a bachelor: and by how much TOUCH. When a man's verses cannot be under- defence is better than no skill, by so much is a stood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the horn more precious than to want. Here comes sir forward child, understanding, it strikes a man more Oliver.

Ros. Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen TOUCH. I am here with thee and thy goats, as do and the reason why they are not so punished the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among and cured is, that the lunacy is so ordinary that the the Goths. whippers are in love too: yet I profess curing it by counsel.

ORL. Did you ever cure any so? Ros. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress; and I set him

TOUCH. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never sawest good manners.


Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met: will you dispatch us here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel?

TOUCH. Come, sweet Audrey;

We must be married, or we must live in bawdry.—
Farewell, good master Oliver :-not,-

SIR OLI. Is there none here to give the woman?
TOUCH. I will not take her on gift of any man.
SIR OLI. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage but,-
is not lawful.

JAQ. [Coming forward.] Proceed, proceed; I'll give her.

TOUCH. Good even, good master What-ye-call't: how do you, sir? You are very well met God'ild you for your last company: I am very glad to see you:-even a toy in hand here, sir.-Nay, pray be


JAQ. Will you be married, motley?

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

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

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

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

O sweet Oliver,

O brave Oliver,

Leave me not behind thee;

Wind away,
Begone, I say,

I will not to wedding with thee.
SIR OLI. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave
of them all shall flout me out of my calling.

SCENE IV.-Another part of the Forest.
Before a Cottage.


CEL. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a man of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.

Ros. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not ?

CEL. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
Ros. Do you think so?

CEL. Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer; but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a covered goblet, or a worm

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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 laughed, 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; 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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O, come, let us remove;
The sight of lovers feedeth those in love :-
Bring us to this sight, and you shall say
I'll prove a busy actor in their play.


SCENE V. Another part of the Forest.


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


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, behind.
PHE. I would not be thy executioner ;

I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou tell'st me, there is murder in mine eye :
'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,
That eyes,-that are the frail'st and softest things,
Who shut their coward gates on atomies,-
Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers !
Now I do frown on thee with all my heart,

And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill

Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down;
Or, if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,
Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers!

Ros. Never talk to me; I will weep.
CEL. Do, I pr'ythee; but yet have the grace to Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
consider, that tears do not become a man.
Ros. But have I not cause to weep?
CEL. As good cause as one would desire; there-
fore weep.

Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee;

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JAQ. I would fain see this meeting.

Come not thou near me: and, when that time You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,


Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not,
As, till that time, I shall not pity thee.
Ros. [Advancing.] And why, I pray you?
might be your mother,

That you insult, exult, and all at once,

Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain?
You are a thousand times a properer man
Than she a woman. 'Tis such fools as you,

Who That make the world full of ill-favour'd children:
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters her;
And out of you she sees herself more proper,

Over the wretched? What though you have no Than any of her lineaments can show her.


(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?
Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?
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 eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship.--

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.

But, mistress, know yourself; down on your knees,
And thank heaven, fasting, for a good man's love :
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 to-

I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo.
Ros. He's fallen in love with your foulness, and
she'll fall in love with my anger: If it be so, as fast


SCENE I.--The Forest of Arden.

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, ex

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, 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 see, None could be so abus'd in sight as he.


Come, to our flock.

[Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN. PHE. Dead shepherd! now I find thy saw of might; Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?

SIL. Sweet Phebe,

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SIL. I would have you.


Why, that were covetousnccc.
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 then

A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon.

PHE. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me ere


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;
'Tis but a peevish boy :-yet he talks well;-
But what care I for words? yet words do well,
When he that speaks them pleases those that hear.
It is a pretty youth-not very pretty :-

But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him:
He'll make a proper man: the best thing in him
Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue

Did make offence, his eye did heal it up.

He is not very 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
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

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.
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.


tracted from many objects, and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my travels, which, by often rumination, wraps me in a most humorous sadness.

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

JAQ. Yes, I have gained my experience,

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


ORL. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind ! JAQ. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. [Exit. 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

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

ORL. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

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.

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 ORL. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in it had not been for a hot midsummer night; for my sight; I had as lief be wooed of a snail.

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Ros. And I am your Rosalind. CEL. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer 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?

ÓRL. 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

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 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.

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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, Asalind, for wife.

ORL. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

Ros. I might ask you for your commission; but,1 do take thee, Orlando, for my husband: there's a girl goes before the priest; and, certainly, a woman's 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 cockpigeon 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 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 keyhole; 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.

ORL. 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. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool.

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 se God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise, or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical 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: therefore 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 ORLANDO. CEL. You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate: we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest.

Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in Ros. Yes, faith will I, Fridays, and Saturdays, love! But it cannot be sounded; my affection hath and all.

ORL. And wilt thou have me?

Ros. Ay, and twenty such.
ORL. What sayest 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,

an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal. CEL. Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out.

Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and born of madness; that blind rascally boy, that abuses every one's eyes, because his own are out, let him be judge, how deep I am in love :-I'll tell thee, Aliena,

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