cloth, from whence you have studied your ques tions. Jaq. You have a nimble wit; I think it was made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against our mistress the world, and all our misery. Orl. 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. Orl. '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. Orl. He is drown'd in the brook; look but in, and you shall see him. Jaq. There shall I see mine own figure. Orl. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cipher. Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good signior love. Orl. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good monsieur melancholy. [Erit JAQUES. CELIA and ROSALIND 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? Orl. 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 fortune, I am not a woman, to be touch'd with so many 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 seeming 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 physick, 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 Rosalind: if I could meet that fancymonger, I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. Orl. 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 Orl. You should ask me what time o'day; there's cage of rushes, I am sure, you are not prisoner. 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. I pr'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, 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. 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? Orl. 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 a 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 6 in your accoutrements; as loving yourself, than seeming the lover of any other. Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love. Ros. 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? Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. Ros. Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip, as madmen 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 : Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the it by counsel. skirts of the forest. Orl. Are you a native of this place? Orl. Did you ever cure any so? Ros. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to Ros. As the rabbit, that you see dwell where she imagine me his love, his mistress; and I set him is kindled. 3 An allusion to the moral sentences issuing from the mouths of figures on old tapestry hangir.gs. every day to woo me: At which time would I, being 4 A spirit averse to conversation. › Estate. but a moonish7 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, as boys 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 laugh 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 monastick: And thus I cured 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. Orl. I would not be cured, youth. Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and come every day to my cote, and 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! what features? Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths. Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited! 8 worse than Jove in a thatch'd house! [Aside. 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 swearest to me, thou art honest; now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst feign. 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. A material fool! 9 [Aside. Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be 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. [Aside. Jaq. I would fain see this meeting. Aud. Well, the gods give us joy! 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 hornbeasts. 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 married man more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor: and by how much defences 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 well met: Will you despatch us here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel ? Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman? Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful. Jaq. [Discovering himself.] Proceed, proceed; I'll give her. Touch. Good even, good master What ye callt: How do you, sir? You are very well met: I ain 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 falcon her bells, so man hath his desire towards wedlock. 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. Touch. Come, sweet Audrey; Farewell, good master Oliver! Ros. But have I not cause to weep? Cel. As good cause as one would desire; there fore weep. Ros. Why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not? Cel. Do, I pr'ythee; but yet have the grace to Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers! consider, that tears do not become a man. 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. Cel. Nay certainly, there is no truth in him. Cel. Yes: I think he is not a pick-purse, nor a horse-stealer; 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 question 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. [Exeunt. SCENE V. - Another Part of the Forest. Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE. Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe: (As, by my faith, I see no more in you Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo. hard, Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck, Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, at a distance. I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. 5 Conversation. 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. Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me, For I am falser than vows made in wine: 6 Love Besides, I like you not: If you will know my house, [Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN. Ha! what say'st thou, 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 Phe. Thou hast my love: Is not that neighbourly? That I shall think it a most plenteous crop That the main harvest reaps: lose now and then A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon. Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft; And he hath bought the cottage, and the bounds, That the old carlot8 once was master of. Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him; 'Tis but a peevish 9 boy : - yet he talks well; But what care I for words? yet words do well, When he that speaks them pleases those that hear It is a pretty youth: - not very pretty : But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him: He'll make a proper man: the best thing in him Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue Did make offence, his eye did heal it up. He is not tall; yet for his years he's tall : His leg is but so so; and yet 'tis well : There was a pretty redness in his lip; A little riper and more lusty red Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask. He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black; I marvel, why I answer'd not again : And thou shalt bear it: Wilt thou, Silvius? I'll write it straight; The matter's in my head, and in my heart: Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me I will be bitter with him, and passing short: ere while? Go with me, Silvius. [Exeunt. Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES. Jaq. 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. 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 politick; nor the lady's, which is nice 7; nor the lover's, which is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects: and, indeed, the sundry comtemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me, is a most humorous sadness. Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear, you have sold your own lands, to see other men's; then, to have seen much, 7 Trifling. and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller: Look, you lisp, and wear strange suits; disable 1 all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your nativity, or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola. Why, how now, Orlando! where have you been all this while? You a lover? - An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more. Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. Ros. Break an hour's promise in love? He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and in the affairs of love, it may be said of him, that break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute Cupid hath clapp'd him o'the shoulder, but I war rant him heart- whole. Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath There a girl goes before the priest; and, certainly, a Rosalind of a better leer than you. Ros. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour, and like enough to consent: What would you say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind? Orl. I would kiss, before I spoke. Ros. Nay, you were better speak first; and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Orl. How, if the kiss be denied? Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter. Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress? Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress. Orl. What, of my suit? Ros. Out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind? Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her. Ros. Well, in her person, I say—I will not have you. Orl. Then, in mine own person, I die. a woman's thought runs before her actions. Orl. For ever and a day. Ros. Say a day, without the ever: No, no, Orlando; men are April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cockpigeon over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot against rain; more new-fangled than an ape; more giddy than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep. Orl. But will my Rosalind do so? Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the wiser, the way warder: Make the doors 3 upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney. Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say, Wit whither wilt? Ros. You shall never take her without her an Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what he could to die before; and he is one of the pat-swer, unless you take her without her tongue. terns of love. Leander, he would have lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night: for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and being taken with the cramp, was drowned; and the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was— - Hero of Sestos. But these are all lies; men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love. Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind; for, I protest, her frown might kill me. Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly: But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition; and ask me what you will, I will grant it. Orl. Then love me, Rosalind. thee. Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner; by two o'clock I will be with thee again. Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways; - I knew what you would prove; my friends told me as much, and I thought no less: that flattering tongue of yours won me:-' -'tis but one cast away, and so, — come, death.- Two o'clock is your hour? Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind. Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise, or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promise, and the most hollow lover, and the Ros. Yes, faith will I, Fridays, and Saturdays, and all. most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful: therefore, beware my censure, and keep your promise. Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind: So adieu. Ros. Well, time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let time try: Adieu. [Exit ORLANDO. Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your Bar the doors. |