Cel.

Touch. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow: a better instance,

say; come,

Cor. Besides, our hands are hard.

Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow, again: a more sounder instance, come.

Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfumed with civet.

Touch. Most shallow man! Thou worms-meat, in
respect of a good piece of flesh! Indeed!-Learn of
the wise, and perpend: Civet is of a baser birth, than
tar: the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the in-
stance, shepherd!

Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest.
[Exeunt. Touch. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, shal-
low man! God make incision in thee! thou art raw.

Cor. 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 harm: and the greatest of my pride is, to see my ewes graze, and my lambs suck.

Touch. 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 twelve-
month, to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out
of all reasonable match. If thou be'st not damu'd for
this, the devil himself will have no shepherds; I can-
not see else, how thou shouldst 'scape.
Cor. Here comes young master Ganymede, my new
mistress's brother.

Touch. Truly, thou art damn'd; like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.

Cor. For not being at court? Your reason.

Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never saw'st good manners; if thou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd.

at

Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone: those, that are good manners at the court, are as ridiculous in the country, as the behaviour of the country is most mockable the court. You told me, you salute not at the court, but you kiss your hands; that courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds.

Touch. Instance, briefly; 'come, instance!

Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, you know, are greasy.

Cel. Why should this desert silent be?

For it is unpeopled? No;
Tongues I'll hang on every tree,
That shall civil sayings show.
Some, how brief the life of mun
Runs his erring pilgrimage;
That the stretching of a span
Buckles in his sum of age.
Some, of violated vows

'Twixt the souls of friend and friend :
But upon the fairest boughs,

Or at every sentence' end,
Will I Rosalinda write;

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
With all graces wide enlarg'd:
Nature presently distill'd
Helen's cheek, but not her heart:
Cleopatra's majesty;
Atalanta's better part;

Sad Lucretia's modesty.
Thus Rosalind of many parts

By heavenly synod was devis'd;
Of many faces, eyes, and hearts,

To have the touches dearest priz'd.
Heaven would that she these gifts should have,
And I to live and die her slave.

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. [Exeunt. Corin and Touchstone. 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?

stammer, that thou might'st pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrowmouth'd bottle; either too much at once, or noue at all. I pr'ythee take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings.

Cel. So you may put a man in your belly.

Cel. 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, speak, sad brow, and true maid.

Cel. I'faith, coz, 'tis he.
Ros. Orlando?

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 madam!
Ros. Proceed!

Cel. There lay he, stretch'd along, like a wounded knight.

Ros. 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: thon bring'st me out of tune.

I

Ros. Do you not know, I am a woman? when I think, must speak. Sweet, say on!

Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES.

Cel. You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?
Ros. 'Tis he; slink by, and note him!
[Celia and Rosalind retire.

Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his Jaq. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, neck. Change you colour?

Ros. Ipr'ythee, who?

Cel. O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes, 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 my 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 South-sea-off dicovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, who is it? quickly, and speak apace! I would thou couldst

I had as lief have been myself alone.
Orl. 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.
Orl. Ido desire, we may be better strangers.
Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love-
songs in their barks.

Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favouredly.

Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name?
Orl. Yes, just.

Jaq. I do not like her name.
Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you, when
she was christen'd.

Jaq. What stature is she of?
Orl. Just as high as my heart.
Jaq. You are full of pretty answers: Have you not

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 seem-
ing 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 Ro-
salind. 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.

[Exit Jaques.- Celia and Rosalind come forward. Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, and under that habit play the knave with him.-Do you hear, forester?

Orl. Very well. What would you?
Ros. I pray you, what is't o' clock?
Orl. 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.
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 ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal,

Orl. Ipr'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 be but a se'nnight, time's pace is so hard, that 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, be- Ros. Love is merely a madness; and, Itell decause he cannot study; and the other lives merrily, serves as well a dark house and whip, as madmen do because he feels no pain: the one lacking the burden of and the reason, why they are not so punished and lean and wasteful learning; the other knowing no bur-cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordinary, that the den of heavy tedious penury: these time ambles withal. whippers are in love too: Yet I profess curing it by 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.

Orl. 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 concy, that you see dwell where she is

Orl. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling.

Orl. W
Ros. N

vill you

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 Orl. I would not be cured, youth. heard him read many lectures against it: and I thank Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me RoGod I am not a woman, to be touched with so many salind, and come every day to my cote, and woo me!

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?

I

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 I 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
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:-
Bring us unto this sight, and you shall say
I'll prove a busy actor in their play.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V.- Another part of the forest.

Enter SILVICS and PHEbe.

(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?
see no more in you, than in the ordinary
of nature's sale-work:-Od's my little life!
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.-
You foolish shepherd, wherefore do you follow her,
Like foggy south, paffing with wind and rain?
You are a thousand times a properer man,
Than she a woman. "Tis such fools as you,
That make the world full of ill-favour'd children:
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters 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 heaven, fasting, for a good man's love:
For I must 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 most foul, being foul 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.
Ros. 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.

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,
That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,
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: 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.

Sil. O dear Phebe,

Ifever (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.

Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
For I am falser than vows made in wine:
Besides, Ilike 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. [Exeunt Rosalind,Celia,and Corin.
Phe. Dead shepherd! now I find thy saw of might;
Whoever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?
Sil. Sweet Phebe,-

Phe. Ha! what say'st thon, 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 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,

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,
And 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.

Ros. And why, I pray you? [Advancing.] Who might Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me ere

be your mother,

That you insult, exult, and all at once,

while?

Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft;

Over the wretched? What though you have more And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds,

beauty,

That the old Carlot once was master of.