Orla. I am he, that is fo love-fhak'd; I pray you, tell me your remedy.

Rof. There is none of my Uncle's marks upon you, he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rufhes, I am fure, you are not prisoner.

Orla. What were his marks?

Rof. A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye and funken, which you have not; an unquestionable fpirit, which you have not; a beard neglected, which you have not; -but I pardon you for that, for fimply your Having in beard is a younger Brother's revenue; then your hofe fhould be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your fleeve unbutton'd, your fhoe untied, and every thing about you demonstrating a careless defolation; but you are no fuch man, you are rather pointdevice in your accoutrements, as loving yourself, than feeming the lover of any other.

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

Rof. Me believe it? you may as foon make her, that you love, believe it; which, I warrant fhe is apter to do, than to confefs fhe does; that is one of the points, in the which women ftill give the lye to their confciences. But, in good footh, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rofalind is fo admired?

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

Rof. But are you fo much in love, as your rhimes speak?

Orla. Neither rhime nor reafon can express how

much.

Rof. Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deferves as well a dark house and a whip, as mad men do: and the reason why they are not fo punish'd and cured, is, that the lunacy is fo ordinary, that the whippers are in love too: yet I profefs curing it by counsel. Orla. Did you ever cure any fo?

Raj Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress: and I fet him every day to wooe me. At which time would J, being but a

moenish

moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking; proud, fantaftical, apifh, fhallow, inconftant, full of tears, full of fmiles; for every paffion fomething, and for no paffion 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 forfwear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my fuitor from his mad humour of love, to a living humour of madness; which was, to forfwear the full ftream of the world, and to live in a nook meerly monaftick; and thus I cur'd him, and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clear as a found fheep's heart, that there fhall not be one spot of love in't.

Orla. I would not be cur'd, youth. Rof. I would cure you if you would but call me Rofalind, and come every day to my cotte, and wooe me. Orla. Now, by the faith of my love, I will; tell me where it is.

Rof. Go with me to it, and I will fhew it you; and, by the way, you fhall tell me where in the foreft you live will you go?

Orla. With all my heart, good youth.

Ro. Nay, nay, you must call me Rofalind: come, fifter, will you go?

Enter Clown, Audrey and Jaques.

[Exeunt.

Clo. Come apace, good Audrey, I will fetch up your goats, Audrey; and now, Audrey, am I the man yet? doth my fimple feature content you ?..

Aud. Your features, Lord warrant us! what features? Clo. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet honeft Ovid was among the Goths.

Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in thatch'd house!

Clo When a man's verfes cannot be understood, nor a man's good Wit feconded with the forward child, Understanding; it ftrikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room; truly, I would, the Gods had made thee poetical

And,

Aud. I do not know what poetical is; is it honeft in deed and word? is it a true thing?

Clo. No, truly; for the trueft poetry is the most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry; and what they fwear in poetry, may be faid, as lovers, they do feign.

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

Clo. I do, truly; for thou fwear'ft to me, thou art honeft: now if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst feign.

Aud. Would you not have me honest?

Clo. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd; for honesty coupled to beauty, is, to have honey a fawce to fugar.

Jaq. A material fool!

Aud. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the

Gods make me honest!

Clo. Truly, and to caft away honefty upon a foul flut, were to put good meat into an unclean difh.

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

Clo. Well, praised be the Gods for thy foulnefs! fluttishness may come hereafter; but be it as it may be, I will marry thee; and to that end I have been with Sir Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the next village, who hath promis'd to meet me in this place of the foreft, and to couple us.

of a fearful

Faq. I would fain fee this meeting. Aud. Well, the Gods give us joy! Clo. Amen. A man may, if he were heart, ftagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no affembly but horn-beafts. But what tho'? courage. As horns are odious, they are neceffary. It is faid, 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, 't's none of his own getting; horns? even fo poor men lone no, no, the noblest deer math them as huge as the rasca: is the fingle man

there.

therefore bleffed no. As a wall'd town is more worthier than a village, fo 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, fo much is a horn more precious than to want.

Here comes Sir Oliver: Sir Oliver Mar-text, you are well met. Will you difpatch us here under this tree,

or fhall we go with you to your chapel?

Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman?
Clo. I will not take her on gift of any man.

Sir Oli. Truly, the muft be given, or the marriage is not lawful.

Jaq. Proceed, proceed! I'll give her.

Clo. Good even, good mafter what ye call: how do you, Sir? you are very well met: God'ild you for your laft company ! I am very glad to fee you; even a toy in hand here, Sir: nay; pray, be covered.

Jaq. Will you be married, Motley?

Clo. As the ox hath his bow, Sir, the horse his curb, and the faulcon his bells, fo man hath his defire; and as pigeons bill, fo wedlock would be nibling.

Jag. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a bufh 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 fhrunk pannel, and, like green timber, warp, warp.

Clo. 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 excufe for me hereafter to leave my wife.

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

Clo. Come, fweet Audrey, we must be married, or we muft live in bawdry: farewel, good Sir Oliver; not O fweet Oliver, O brave Oliver, leave me not behind thee, but wind away, begone, I fay, I will not to wedding with thee.

Sir Oliv. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave of them all shall flout me out of my Calling.

Ref.

[Exeunt.

SCENE changes to a Cottage in the Foreft.

Enter Rofalind and Celia.

Ever talk to me, I will weep.

NE

Cel. Do, I pr'ythee, but yet have the grace to confider, that tears do not become a man. Rof. But have I not caufe to weep ?

Cel. As good caufe as one would defire, therefore weep.

Rof. His very hair is of the diffembling colour.

Cel. Something browner than Judas's: marry, his kiffes are Judas's own children.

Rof. I'faith, his hair is of a good colour.

Cel. An excellent colour: your chefnut was ever the only colour.

Raf. (8) And his kiffing is as full of fanctity, as the touch of holy Beard.

Cel. (9) He hath bought a pair of caft lips of Diana ;

a nun

(8) And bis kiffing is as full of Sanity, as the Touch of holy Bread.] Tho' this be the Reading of the oldeft Copies, I have made no fcruple to fubftitute an Emendation of Mr. Warburton, which mightify adds to the Propriety of the Simile. What can the Poet be fuppofed to mean by boly Bread? Not the Sacramental, fure; that would have been Prophanation, upon a Subject of fo much Levity. But boly Beard very beautifully alludes to the Kifs of a holy Saint, which the Ancients called the Kifs of Charity. And for Rofalind to fay, that Orlando kiffed as holily as a Saint, renders the Comparison very just.

(9) He bath bought a pair of chaft Lips of Diana; a Nun of Winter's Sifterhood kiffes not more religiously; the very ice of Chaflity is in them.] This Pair of chaft Lips is a Corruption as old as the fecond Edition in Folio; I have restored with the firft Folio, a Pair of caft Lips, i. e. a Pair left off by Diana Again, what Idea does a Nun of Winter's Sifterhood give us? Tho' I have not ventured to disturb the Text, it seems more probable to me that the Poet wrote,