tar; the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd. Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest. Touch. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee! thou art raw. Cer. Sir, I am a true labourer; I earn that I eat, get that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other men's good, content with my barm: and the greatest of my pride is, to see my ewes graze, and my lambs suck. Teuch. That is another simple sin in you; to bring the ewes and the rams together, and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle: to be bawd to a bell-wether; and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemouth, to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be'st not damn'd for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how thou should'st 'scape. Cer. Here comes young master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother. Enter Rosalind, reading a paper. Her worth, being mounted on the wind, Are but black to Rosalind. Let no face be kept in mind, But the fair of Rosalind. Touch. I'll rhyme you so, eight years together; dinDers, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted: it is the right butter-woman's rank to market. Res. Out, fool! Touch. For a taste:- If a hart do lack a hind, They that reap, must sheaf and bind; Sweetest nut hath sowerest rind, Such a nut is Rosalind. He that sweetest rose will find, Must find love's prick, and Rosalind. This is the very false gallop of verses; Why do you infect yourself with them? Rer. Peace, you dull fool; I found them on a tree. 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. Enter Celia, reading a paper. Ros. Peace! Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside. For it is unpeopled? No; Twixt the souls of friend and friend: But upon the fairest boughs, Teaching all that read, to know The quintessence of every sprite Heaven would in little show. Therefore heaven nature charg'd That one body should be fill'd Sad Lucretia's modesty. By heavenly synod was devis'd; Of many faces, eyes, and hearts, To have the touches dearest priz'd. Ros. O most gentle Jupiter!-what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cry'd, 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. [Exe. Corin and Touch. 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 verses. Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse. Cel. But didst thou hear, without wondering how thy name should be hang'd 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 palmtree: 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 to meet; but mountains may be removed with earth quakes, and so encounter. Ros. Nay, but who is it? Cel. Is it possible? Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is. Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all whooping! Ros. Good nty complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a Southsea-off discovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, who is it? quickly, and speak apace: I would thou couldst staminer, that thou might'st pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd bottle; either too much at once, or none at all. I pr', thee, 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 tripp'd up the wrestler's heels, and your heart, both in an instant. Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking; spcak sad brow, and true maid. Cel. I'faith, coz, 'tis he. Cel. Orlando. Ros. Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose?-What did he, when thou saw'st him? What said he? How look'd 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 Garagantua'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, 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 a good observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropp'd acorn. Ros. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit. Cel. Give me audience, good woman. Ros. Proceed. Cel. There lay he, stretch'd along, like a wounded knight. Rus. 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 very unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter. Ros. O ominous! he comes to kill my heart. Cel. I would sing my song without a burden: thou bring'st me out of tune. Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. Enter Orlando and Jaques. Cel. You bring me out :-Soft! comes he not here? [Celia and Rosalind retire. Jaq. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as liet have been myself alone. Orla. And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too for your society. Jaq. God be with you ; let's meet as little as we can. Orla. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly. Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name? Orla. Yes, just. Jaq. I do not like her name. Oria. There was no thought of pleasing you, when she was christen'd. Jeq. What stature is she of? Orla. Just as high as my heart. Jaq. You are full of pretty answers: Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conn'd them out of rings? Orla. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your questions. Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against our mistress the world, and all our misery. Oria. 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. Orla. '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. Orla. He is drown'd in the brook; look but in, and you shall see him. Jaq. There shall I see mine own figure. Orla. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cypher. Orla. Very well; What would you? Orla. 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. Orla. 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. Orla. I pr'y thee, 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'might, time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven years. Oria. 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. Orla. 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. Orla. Who stays it still withal? Ros. With lawyers in the vacation: for they sleep between term and term, and then they perteive not how time moves. Orla. Where dwell you, pretty youth? Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. Orla. Are you native of this place? Ros. As the coney, that you see dwell where she is kindled. Orla. 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 in-land 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 touch'd with so many giddy of fences as he hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal. Orla. Can you remenaber any of the principal evils, Jag. You have a numble wit; I think it was made of that he laid to the charge of women? me. Ros. There were none principal; they were all like || Rosalind, and come every day to my cote, and woo one another, as half-pence are: every one fault seeming monstrous, till his fellow fault came to match it. Orla. 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 en brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind: if I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give bim some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidran of love upon him. Oria. 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 eage of rushes, I am sure you are not prisoner. Orla. 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: á 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 unbuttoned, 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. Orla. Fair youth, I would I could make thee beheve I love. Res. 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 ? Orla. 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? Orla. With all my heart, good youth. Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind :-Come, sister, will you go? [Exeunt. SCENE III-Enter Touchstone and Audrey; 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 fea tures? Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths. Jaq. Aside.] O knowledge ill-inhabited! worse than Jove in a thatch'd house! 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 Orla. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of || hope thou didst feign. Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. Res. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak? Orla. Neither rhyme nor, reason can express how de 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. Jaq. [Aside.] A material fool! Res. Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, Aud. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the serves as well a dark house and a whip, as madmengods make me honest! 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. Orla. 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, aboys 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 enred 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. Oria. I would not be cured, youth. Rot. I would cure you, if you would but call me || 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. 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 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. [Aside.] I would fain see this meeting. 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?-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 narried man myte honourable than the barc 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. Enter Sir Oliver Mar-text. Here comes sir Oliver:-sir Oliver Mar-text, you are Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman? 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 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 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. We must be married, or we must live in bawdry. 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. [Exe. Jaques, Touch. and Aud. 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. Cel. Yes: I think he is not a pick-purse, nor a horsestealer; 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 ques tion 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 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 Corin. Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft enquired Cel. Well, and what of him? Ros. O, come, let us remove; I'll prove a busy actor in their play. [Exeunt. SCENE V-Another part of the Forest. Enter Sil- Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe: Cel. Do, I pr'ythee; but yet have the grace to con- I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. sider, 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. Au excellent colour: your chesnut 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. Thou tell'st me, there is murder in mine eye: if ever, (as that ever may be near,) You meet in some fresh cheek the power of fancy, 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. Res. 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 Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? That make the world full of ill-favour'd children: Res. He's fallen in love with her 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. Res. 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. [Exe. Ros. Cel. and Cor. Phe. Dead shepherd! now I find thy saw of might; Who ever lov'd, that lov'd 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. Sit. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be; If you do sorrow at my grief in love, Were both extermin❜d. 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, 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; He is not tall; yet for his years he's tall: A little riper and more lusty red Than that mix'd in his cheek; twas just the difference I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet I have more cause to hate him than to love him: He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black; I marvel, why I answer'd not again: I'll write it straight; [Exeunt. SCENE I.-The same. Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques. Jaques. 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. 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 politie; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's, which is |