most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.

Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited+! worse than love in a thatched house! [Aside.

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: 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 ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve un utton'd, your shoe untied, and every thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man; you are rather pointdevicet 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 believe that you love 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 punish'd and cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordinary, that the 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 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

Ros. Go with me to it, and I'll shew 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.

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-favour'd: for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a sauce to sugar. [Aside.

Jaq. A material fool! 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 foul.

[Aside.

Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foul ness! 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 Mar-text, 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. Aman may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger in this attempt; for here we 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 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 defences is better than no skill, by so much is a horn more precious than to want.

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 chapei ?

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 cover'd.

Jaq. Will you be married, motley?

Touch. As the ox hath his bow¶, Sir, the horse his curb, and the faulcon her bells, so man hath his de

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 pannel, and, like green timber, warp,

might;

Who ever loved, that loved not at first sight?

Sil. Sweet Phebe,

Phe. 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:

If you do sorrow at my grief in love,

By giving love, your sorrow and my grief
Were both extermined.

Phe. Thou hast my love; Is not that neighbourly!
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,
Am 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 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 the 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.

ACT IV.

SCENE I-The same.

[Exeunt.

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, + Trifling.

• Peasant

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 gain'd my experience.

Enter ORLANDO.

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 bene fits 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 clapp'd 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 woo'd 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 arm'd 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 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?

Orl. I would kiss, before I spoke.

Ros. Nay, you were better speak first; and when you were gravell'd 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.

Örl. 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 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 persoa, videlicet, in a love cause. Troilus had his brains dash'd 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 turu'd nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and, being taken with the cramp, was drown'd,

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 bave 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 thon 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 miarry 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 yoù must say,-I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife,

Ros. I might ask you for your commission; butI do take thee, Orlando, for my husband:-There a girl goes before the priest; and, certainly, a woman's thought runs before her actions.

Ori. So do all thoughts; they are wing'd. Ros. Now tell me, how long you would have her, after you have possess'd 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.

Ort. 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 way warder:-Make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; shat 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.

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.

call Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the gross 169 band of the unfaithful: therefore beware my censure, and keep your promise.

deed my Rosalind :-So, adieu. Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert inall such offenders, and let time try: Adieu! Ros. Well, time is the old justice that examines

Cel. You have simply misused our sex in your [Exit Orlando. pluck'd over your head, and shew the world what love-prate; we must have your doublet and hose 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 1 am in love! But it cannot be sounded; my aflection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal.

pour affection in, it runs out. Cel. Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as you

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:-'ll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando: I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come. Cel. And I'll sleep.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II.-Another part of the Forest. Enter JAQUES and LORDS, in the Habit of Foresters. Jaq. Which is he that kill'd the deer? 1 Lord. Sir, it was I.

Jaq. Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman conqueror and it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of victory :Have you no song, forester, for this purpose? 2 Lord. Yes, Sir.

Jaq. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough.

SONG.

[Giving a Letter.

Sil. Sure, it is hers.

Bar the doors,