Ros. O ominous! he comes to kill my heart. Ros. Then there is no true lover in the Cel. I would sing my song without a bur-forest; else sighing every minute, and groanden: thou bring'st me out of tune. ing 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 anibles 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 + How was he dressed? The giant of Rabelais. An allusion to the moral sentences on old tapestry hangings.

be but a sennight, time's pace is so hard that | your having f in beard is a younger brother's 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 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.

Or. 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.

|

revenue :-Then your hose should be nngarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve on. buttoned, 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 s0 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 Orl. Your accent is something finer than you, deserves as well a dark house and a you could purchase in so removed a dwelling. whip, as madmen do: and the reason why Ros. I have been told so of many : but, they are not so punished and cured, is, that indeed, an old religious uncle of mine taught the lunacy is so ordinary, that the whippers me to speak, who was in his youth an in-land + are in love too: Yet I profess curing it by man: one that knew courtship too well, for | counsel. 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 touch'd with so many giddy offences as he hath generally tax'd 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 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: 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, + Civilized.

• Sequestered.

.Estate و

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 every day to woo me: At which time would 1, 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 nad 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: aand, 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.

|| Over-exact.

t A spirit averse to conversation.
Variable.

SCENE III. Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDRRY; 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 capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.

Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited t! 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.

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

alone; -No, no; the noblest deer hath
them as buge 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 T is better than no skill,
by so much is a horn more precious than to
Enter Sir OLIVER MAR-TEXT.
Here comes sir Oliver:-Sir Oliver Mar-text,
you are well met: Will you despatch us here
under this tree, or shall we go with you to
your chapel?

want.

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. [Discovering himself.] 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 covered.

Jaq. Will you be married, motley? Touch. As the ox hath his bow tt, sir, the horse his curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires: and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.

Juq. And will you, being a man of your Aud. Would you not have me honest? breeding, be married under a bush, like a begTouch. No truly, unless thou wert hard-gar? Get you to church, and have a good 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!

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

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

Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy fouiness! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, will marry thee: and to that end, I have been with Sir Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the next village; who bath 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 • Lascivious.

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 pannel, and, like green timber, warp,

warp.

Touch. 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. [Aside. Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.

Touch. Come, sweet Audrey;
We must be married, or we must live in baw-
dry, Farewell, good master Oliver!
Not-O sweet Oliver,
O brave Oliver,
Leave me not behi' thee;
But-Wind away,
Begone, I say,

I will not to wedding wi' thee.

[Exeunt JAQ. Toveн. 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.

+ Ill-lodged.
A fool with matter in him.
Lean deer are called rascal deer.
The art of fencing.
** God reward you.
tt Yoke.

§ Homely.

Cel. Do, I pr'ythee; but yet have the grace] Bring us unto this sight, and you shall say 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.

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 cover'd 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 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 lovert; 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 CORIN.

Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft
inquired

After the shepherd that complain'd of love;
Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
That was his mistress.

Cel.
Well, and what of him?
Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd,
Between the pale complexion of true love
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
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 :-

• Conversation.

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
distance.

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, [things,
That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest
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 but upon a rush,
The cicatrice and capable impressure
Thy palm some moment keeps

mine eyes,

but now

Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not;
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes
That can do hurt.

Sil.

O dear Phebe,

If ever, (as that ever may be near,) [of fancy †,
You meet in some fresh cheek the power
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?
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 eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship-
f Mistress. ! Love.

ACT IV.

Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and Jaques. Jaq. I prythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee. Ros. They say, you are a melancholy fellow. I drunkards.