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.

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

He was

ORL. Did you ever cure any so? Ros. Yes, one; and in this manner. 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 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.

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?

TOUCH. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.

JAQ. O knowledge ill-inhabited! worse than Jove in a thatched house! d

[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.

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-

"Things rank and gross in nature possess it merely." Hamlet, Act I. Sc. 2.

And in Lodge's Rosalynde, on which this comedy is based :"And forth they pulled such victuals as they had, and fed as merely as if they had been in Paris."

b Moonish-] Variable, inconstant, like the moon.

e Capricious-] "Caper, capri, cap ritious, capricious, fantastical, capering, goatish; and by a similar sort of process are we to smooth Goths into goats."-CALDECOTT.

d Jove in a thatched house!] Stipulis et cannâ tecta palustri." We have the same allusion in "Much Ado about Nothing," Act II. Sc. 1:

44 My visor is Philemon's roof; within the house is Jove."

[Aside.

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. 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 ?b- -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 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. Here comes sir Oliver.

Enter SIR OLIVER MARTEXT.

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

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 is not lawful.

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

Тосси. Good even, good master What-yecall'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 covered.

d

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

a What though ?] That is, what then?

Horns, &c.] In the folio, 1623, this hopeless passage stands, .. Hornes, even so poore men alone." We adopt the ordinary punctuation, though with reluctance. Mr. Collier's annotator reads: "Are horns given to poor men alone?"

e Rascal.] Rascal was the huntsman's term for a deer lean and out of season.

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. TOUCH. Come, sweet Audrey;

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

SCENE IV.-Another part of the Forest.
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 colour. CEL. Something browner than Judas's: marry, his kisses are Judas's own children.

Ros. I' faith, his hair is of a good colour. CEL. An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour.

Ros. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread.

:

e

CEL. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana a nun 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-eaten nut.

Ros. Not true in love?

CEL. Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in.

Ros. You have heard him swear downright, 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 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?

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

thee;

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 !
Now show the wound mine eye hath made in thee;
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some scar of it; lean upon a rush,
The cicatrice and capable impressure

Thy palm some moment keeps: but now mine

Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not,
As, till that time, I shall not pity thee.
Ros. [Advancing.] And why, I pray you ?(6)
Who might be your mother,

That you insult, exult, and all at once, [beauty,
Over the wretched? What though you have no
(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 eyeballs, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship.-
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,
Like foggy south, puffing with wind and rain?
You are a thousand times a properer man

pable. Capable means sensible. The only difficulty in the line is the word cicatrice, which certainly appears here to be used in an exceptional sense.

b All at once,-] See note (a), p. 65.

Than she a woman. "Tis such fools as you,
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,
Than any of her lineaments can show her.-
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
together;

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 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 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 ?(7)
SIL. Sweet Phebe,--
PHE.

If

Ha! what say'st thou, Silvius? SIL. Sweet Phebe, pity me.

PHE. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. SIL. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be;

you do sorrow at my grief in love,

By giving love, your sorrow and my grief

Were both extermin'd.

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
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;

'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.
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.

e Have more cause-]

[Exeunt.

The second folio reads, "I have more cause," and has been followed by most of the modern editors, perhaps rightly, unless we should read:-"Have much more cause," &c.