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Jag, I would fain fee this meeting. iud. Well, the gods give us joy!
Clo. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful. heart, Itagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no affeinbly but horn-beasts. But what tho'? courage. As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is said, many a man knows no end of bis 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 fo-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, 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, 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 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?
Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.
Jaq. Proceed, proceed ! I'll give her.
for your last company! I am very glad to see you; even á toy in hand here, Sir: Day, 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, fc man hath his desire; and as pidgeons bill, fo wedlock would be nibbling.
Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a bulk 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 wainscoat; then one of them will prove a fhrunk p:ennel, and, like green timber, warp, warp. (lo. I am not in the mind, but I were better to be
you, Sir ?
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.
Člo. Come, sweet Audrey, we must be married, or we must live in bawdry. Farewel, good Sir, Oliver; not o sweet Oliver, O brave Oliver, leave me not behind thee; but wind away, begone, I say, I will not to wedding with thee.
Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave of them all fall fout me out of my calling. [Exeunt. SCENE X. Changes to a cottage in the forest.
Enter Rosalind and Celia. Rof. Never talk to me, I will weep;
Cel. Do, I pr’ythee; but yet have the grace to confider, that tears do not become a man.
Rof. But have I not cause to weep?
Cel. As good cause as one would defire, therefore weep,
Ros. His very hair is of the diffembling colour.
Cel. Something browner than Judas's: marry, his kisses are Judas's own children.
Rof. I' faith, his hair is of a good colour.
Cel. An excellent colour : your chesnut was ever the only colour.
Rof. And his killing is as full of fanctity, as the touch of holy beard *.
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.
Rof. Hut why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not ?
Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
Cel. Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horseftealer ; but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a cover'd goblet, or a worm-eaten nut.
Rof. Not true in love ?
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 foreit on the Duke your father.
RS. I met the Duke yelterday, and had much queftion with him : he ask'd 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 braye verses, speaks brave words, fwears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite travers, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose; but all's brave that youth mounts, and foliy guides. Who comes here?
Enter Corin. Cor. Mistress and Master, you have oft inquired After the shepherd that complain'd of love; Whom
you saw fitting by me on the turf, Praising the proud disdainful shepherdefs That was his mistress.
Cel. Well, and what of him ?
Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd,
Ros. O come, let us remove;
Enter Sylvius and Phebe. Syl. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe; Say, that you love me not; but say not so In bitterneis. The common executioner, Whose heart th’accuítom’d sight of death makes hard, Fails not the ax upon the humble neck, But first begs pardon: will you sterner be Than he that deals, and lives by, bloody drops.
Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin.
Syl. O dear Phebe,
Phe. But till that time,
Rof. And why, I pray you? who might be your That you insult, exult, and rail, at once (mother, Over the wretched ? what though you have 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 pitilefs ? Why, what means this ? why do you look on me? I see no more in you than in the ordinary Of nature's fale-work: odds, my little life ! I think she means to tangle mine eyes too : No, faith, proud mistress, hope not after it;
"Tis not your inky brows, your black filk hair,
Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a year together; I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo.
Ref. 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.
Rof. I pray you, do not fall in love with me; For I am faller 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, fifter ? shepherd, ply her hard; Come, fitter ; thepherdefs, 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 Rof. Cel. and Corin.
Phe. Deed shepherd, now I find thy faw of might; Who ever lov'd that lov'd not at first sight?
Syl. Sweet Phebe !