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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?
Clo. I will not take her on gift of any man.

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

Jaq. Proceed, proceed ! I'll give her.
Clo. Good even, good Malter What-ye-call: how do
you are very well met. God'ild


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


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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.
Rof. Do you think so ?

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. Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in.
Rof. You have heard him swear downright, he was:
* Meaning the kiss of charity from hermits and holy men.


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,
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 :
Bring us but to this fight, and you thall say
I'll prove a busy actor in their play. [Exeunt.
SCENE XI. Changes to another part of the forest

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.
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 eyes;
'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable,
That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,
Who ľut their coward gates on atomies,
Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers !
Now do I 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 can'st not, oh, for shame, for shame,
Lye not, to say mine eyes are murderers.
Now shew the wound mine eyes have 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 ; but now mine eyes,
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not;
Nor, I am sure, there is no force in eyes
That can do hurt.

Syl. O dear Phebe,
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,
Amict me with thy mocks, pity me not;
As, till that time, I shall not pity thee.

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,
Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheek of cream,
That can entame my spirits to your worship.
You foolish thepherd, wherefore do you follow hee
Like foggy louth, puffing with wind and rain ?
You are a thousand times a properer man,
Than ihe a woman, 'Tis such fools as you,
That make the world full of ill-favour'd children ;
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatter her;
And out of you she sees herself more proper,
Than any of her lineaments can show her.
But, Mistress, know yourself; down on your knees,
And thank Heav'n, faiting, for a good man's love ;
For I muit tell you friendly in your ear,
Sell when you can, you are not for all markets,
Cry the man mercy, love him, take his offer
Foul* is mest foul, being found to be a scoffer :
So take her to thee, shepherd; fare you well.

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 !
Phe. Hah: what fay'st thou, Sylvius?
Syl. Sweet Phebe, pity me.
Phe. Why I am sorry for thee, gentle Sylvius.
Syl. Where-ever forrow is, relief would be ;
* By the word foul bere is meant ill-favoured,


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