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Jaq. I would fain fee, this meeting. Aud. Well, the gods give us joy! Clo. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearfulheart, ftagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no affembly but horn-beafts. But what tho'? courage. As horns are odious, they are neceffary. It is faid, 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 fo-poor men alone? No, no, the nobleft deer hath them as huge as the rafcal. Is the fingle man therefore bleffed? 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 difpatch us here under this tree, or fhall 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, he must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.

Jaq. Proceed, proceed! I'll give her.

Clo. Good even, good Mafter What-ye-call: how do you, Sir? you are very well met. God'ild for your last company! I am very glad to fee you; even a toy in hand here, Sir: nay, pray be covered.


Jaq. Will you be married, Motley?

Clo. As the ox hath his bow, Sir, the horfe his curb, and the faulcon his bells, fc man hath his defire; and as pidgeons bill, fo wedlock would be nibbling.

Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a bufh like a beggar? Get you to church, and have a good prieft that can tell you what marriage is this fellow will but join you together as they join wainfcoat; then one of them will prove a fhrunk pannel, and, like green timber, warp, warp.

Clo. I am not in the mind, but I were better to be married

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 excufe for me hereafter to leave my wife.

Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counfel thee. Clo. Come, fweet Audrey, we must be married, or we must live in bawdry. Farewel, good Sir, Oliver; not O fweet Oliver, O brave Oliver, leave me not behind thee; but wind away, begone, I fay, I will not to wedding with thee.

Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave of them all fhall flout me out of my calling. [Exeunt. SCENE X. Changes to a cottage in the foreft. Enter Rofalind 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.

Ref. But have I not caufe to weep?

Cel. As good caufe as one would defire, therefore


Rof. His very hair is of the diffembling colour. Cel. Something browner than Judas's: marry, his kiffes are Judas's own children.

Rof. I' faith, his hair is of a good colour.

Cel. An excellent colour: your chefnut was ever the only colour.

Ref. And his kiffing is as full of fanctity, as the touch of holy beard *.

Cel. He hath bought a pair of caft lips of Diana; a nun of Winter's fifterhood kiffes not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.

Rof. But why did he fwear he would come this morning, and comes not ?

Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
Rof. Do you think fo?

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 kifs of charity from hermits and holy men.


Cel. Was, is not is; befides, the oath of a lover is no ftronger than the word of a tapfter; they are both the confirmers of falfe reckonings; he attends here in the foreft on the Duke your father.

Ref. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much queftion with him: he afk'd me, of what parentage I was; I told him, of as good as he; fo he laugh'd, and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is fuch a man as Orlando ?

Cel. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verfes, fpeaks brave words, fwears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite travers, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puifny tilter, that fpurs his horfe but on one fide, breaks his staff like a noble goofe; but all's brave that youth mounts, and folly guides. Who comes here ?

Enter Corin.

Cor. Miftrefs and Mafter, you have oft inquired After the fhepherd that complain'd of love; Whom you faw fitting by me on the turf, Praifing the proud difdainful fhepherdefs That was his mistress.

Cel. Well, and what of him?

Cor. If you will fee a pageant truly play'd,
Between the pale complexion of true love,
And the red glow of fcorn and proud difdain;
Go hence a little, and I fhall conduct you,
you will mark it.

Rof. O come, let us remove;

The fight of lovers feedeth those in love:
Bring us but to this fight, and you fhall fay
I'll prove a bufy actor in their play.

[Exeunt. SCENE XI. Changes to another part of the foreft Enter Sylvius and Phebe.

Syl. Sweet Phebe, do not fcorn me; do not, Phebe; Say, that you love me not; but say not fo In bitternels. The common executioner,

Whose heart th' accustom'd fight of death makes hard,
Falls not the ax upon the humble neck,
But firft begs pardon: will you fterner be
Than he that deals, and lives by, bloody drops.


Enter Rofalind, Celia, and Corin.

Phe. I would not be thy executioner;
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou tell'ft me there is murder in mine eyes;
'Tis pretty, fure, and very probable,
That eyes, that are the frail'ft and foftest things,
Who fhut 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 fwoon; why, now fall down;
Or if thou can'ft not, oh, for fhame, for fhame,
Lye not, to fay mine eyes are murderers.

Now thew the wound mine eyes have made in thee;
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains
Some fear of it; lean but upon a rush,
The cicatrice and capable impreffure

Thy palm fome moment keeps; but now mine eyes,
Which I have darted at thee, hurt thee not;
Nor, I am fure, 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 fome fresh cheek the power of fancy,
Then fhall you know the wounds invifible
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 fhall not pity thee.

Rof. And why, I pray you? who might be your That you infult, exult, and rail, at once [mother, Over the wretched? what though you have beauty, (As, by my faith, I fee no more in you Than without candle may go dark to bed), Muft you be therefore proud and pitilefs? Why, what means this? why do you look on me? I fee no more in you than in the ordinary Of nature's fale-work: odds, my little life! I think the means to tangle mine eyes too: No, faith, proud miftrefs, 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 fpirits to your worship.
You foolifh fhepherd, wherefore do you follow her
Like foggy fouth, puffing with wind and rain ?
You are a thousand times a properer man,
Than the a woman, "Tis fuch fools as you,
That make the world full of ill-favour'd children;
'Tis not her glafs, but you, that flatter her;
And out of you fhe fees herself more proper,
Than any of her lineaments can fhow her.
But, Mitrefs, know yourfelf; down on your knees,
And thank Heav'n, faiting, 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 found to be a scoffer :
So take her to thee, fhepherd; 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 foulnefs, and fhe'll fall in love with my anger.. -If it be fo, as fast as The answers thee, with frowning looks, I'll fauce her with bitter words. Why look you fo upon me?

Phe. For no ill-will I bear you.

Rof. I pray you, do not fall in love with me; For I am falfer than vows made in wine; Befides, I like you not. If you will know my house, 'Tis at the tuft of olives, here hard by. Will you go, fifter? fhepherd, ply her hard; Come, fifter; fhepherdefs, look on him better, And be not proud; though all the world could fee, None could be so abus'd in fight as he. Come, to our flock. [Exeunt Rof. Cel. and Corin.

Phe. Deed fhepherd, 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'ft thou, Sylvius ?

Syl. Sweet Phebe, pity me.

Phe. Why I am forry for thee, gentle Sylvius.
Spl. Where-ever forrow is, relief would be ;

*By the word foul here is meant ill-favoured.

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