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Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you:

Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, and under that habit play the knave with him.- he taught me how to know a man in love; in which Do you hear, forester ?

Orl. Very well; What would you?
Ros. I pray you, what is't a'clock?

cage of rushes, I am sure, you are not prisoner. Orl. What were his marks?

Ros. A lean cheek; which you have not: a blue

Orl. You should ask me, what time o' day; there's eye, and sunken; which you have not: an unno clock in the forest. questionable spirit; which you have not: a beard Ros. Then, there is no true lover in the forest; neglected; which you have not:-but I pardon else sighing every minute, and groaning every hour, you for that; for, simply, your having in beard is would detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock. a younger brother's revenue:-Then your hose Orl. And why not the swift foot of time? had should be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your not that been as proper? sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and every Ros. By no means, sir; Time travels in divers thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation. paces with divers persons: I'll tell you who time But you are no such man; you are rather pointambles withal, who time trots withal, who time devices in your accoutrements; as loving yourself, gallops withal, and who he stands still withal. than seeming the lover of any other.

Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.

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 Ros. Me believe it? you may as soon make her it is solemnized: if the interim be but a se'nnight, that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of 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 Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein man that hath not the gout: for the one sleeps ea-Rosalind is so admired?

seven years.

Orl. Who ambles time withal?

sily, because he cannot study; and the other lives Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand merrily, because he feels no pain: the one lacking of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. the burden of lean and wasteful learning; the Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes 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?
Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister; here in
the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.
Orl. Are you a native of this place?

Ros. As the coney, that you see dwell where she is kindled.

Orl. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so remov'd' a dwelling.

speak?

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 it by counsel.

Orl. Did you ever cure any so?

Ros. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo me: At which time would I, being but a moonish 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 Ros. I have been told so of many: but, indeed, the most part cattle of this colour: would now like an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, him, now loath him; then entertain him, then forwho was in his youth an in-land man; one that swear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love, I have heard him read many lectures against it; to a living humour of madness; which was, to forand I thank God, I am not a woman, to be touch'd swear the full stream of the world, and to live in a with so many giddy offences as he hath generally nook merely monastic: And thus I cured him; tax'd their whole sex withal. 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. 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 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

Woo me.

Orl. I pr'ythee, recount some of them.
Orl. Now, by the faith of my love, I will; tell
Ros. No; I will not cast away my physic, but me where it is.

on those that are sick. There is a man haunts the Ros. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you :_ and, forest, that abuses our young plants with carving by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest Rosalind on their barks; hangs odes upon haw-you live: Will you go?

thorns, and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, Orl. With all my heart, good youth.

[Exeunt.

deifying the name of Rosalind: if I could meet Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind :—Come, that fancy-monger, I would give him some good sister, will you go? 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.

(1) Sequestered.

(2) Civilized.

(s) A spirit averse to conversation. (4) Estate.

SCENE III.-Enter Touchstone, and Audrey;
Jaques at a distance, observing them.
Touch. Come apace, good Audrey; I will fetch

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up your goats, Audrey: And how, Audrey? am I the man yet? Doth my simple feature content you? Aud. Your features! Lord warrant us! 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 !2 worse than Jove in a thatch'd house!

Jaq. [Discovering himself.] Proceed, proceed; I'll give her.

Touch. Good even, good master What ye call't: How do you, sir? You are very well met God'ild you' for your last company: I am very glad to see you :-Even a toy in hand here, sir:-Nay; pray, be cover'd.

Jaq. Will you be married, motley? [Aside. Touch. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse Touch. When a man's verses cannot be under- his curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his stood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the for-desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be ward child, understanding, it strikes a man more nibbling.

dead than a great reckoning in a little room :- Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breedTruly, I would the gods had made thee poetical. ing, be married under a bush, like a beggar? Get Aud. I do not know what poetical is: Is it you to church, and have a good priest that can tell 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 swear'st 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.

[Aside.

Jaq. A material fool!3 Aud. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me honest!

Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut, were to put good meat into an unclean dish.

Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.4

[Aside.

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;

We must be married, or we must live in bawdry.
Farewell, good master Oliver;
Not-O sweet Oliver,

O brave Oliver,

Leave me not behi' thee;
But-Wind away,

Begone, I say,

I will not to wedding wi' thee.

[Exe. Jaq. Touch. and Audrey. Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave

of them all shall flout me out of my calling. [Ex. IV.-The same. Before a Cottage. Enter Rosalind and Celia.

SCENE

Ros. Never talk to me, I will weep.
Cel. Do, I pr'ythee; but yet have the grace to
consider, that tears do not become a man.
Ros. But have I not cause to weep?

Cel. As good cause as one would desire; there

fore weep.

Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foul-
ness! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it
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..
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
horn-beasts. But what though? Courage! As his kisses are Judas's own children.
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 mar-
ried man more honourable than the bare brow of
bachelor: and by how much defence is better than
no skill, by so much is a horn more precious than
to want.

Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour.
Cel. Something browner than Judas's: marry,

Enler Sir Oliver Mar-text.

a

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 ?

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

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

Ros. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread.

a

Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana:
nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more reli-
giously; the very ice of chastity is in them.
Ros. But why did he swear he would come this
morning, and comes not?

Cel. Nay certainly, there is no truth in him.
Ros. Do you think so?

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 worn 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

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 mar-was.
riage is not lawful.

(1) Lascivious. (2) Ill-lodged.
(3) A fool with matter in him.
(5) Lean deer are called rascal deer."

(4) Homely.

Cel. Was is not is: besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are

(6) The art of fencing. (7) God reward you

both the confirmers of false reckonings: He at- Come not thou near me: and, when that time comes, tends here in the forest on the duke your father. Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not; Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much As, till that time, I shall not pity thee. question' with him. He asked me, of what parent- Ros. And why, I pray you? [Advancing.] Who age I was; I told him, of as good as he: so he might be your mother, laugh'd, and let me go. But what talk we of That you insult, exult, and all at once, fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando? Over the wretched? What though you have more beauty,

Cel. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, (As, by my faith, I see no more in you and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart Than without candle may go dark to bed,) the heart of his lover: as a puny tilter, that spurs Must you be therefore proud and pitiless? his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble Why, what means this? Why do you look on me? goose: but all's brave, that youth mounts, and folly I see no more in you, than in the ordinary guides:-Who comes here!

Enter Corin.

Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft inquired
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.
SCENE V.-Another part of the Forest.
Silvius and Phebe.

do not,

Of nature's sale-work:-Od's my little life!
I 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, puffing 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,-

[Exeunt.
Sell when you can; you are not for all markets:
Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer;
Enter 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 to
gether;
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?

Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me;
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 humble 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,

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,

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3

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:
Besides, I like 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. [Exe. Ros. Cel. and Cor.
Phe. Dear shepherd! now I find thy saw of might;
Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not as first sight?
Sil. Sweet Phebe,-

Phe.

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
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.

Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me ere while?

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

and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands.

Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience.

Enter Orlando.

Ros. And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have a fool to make me merry, than exAnd he hath bought the cottage, and the bounds,perience to make me sad; and to travel for it too. That the old carlot' once was master of.

Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him;
'Tis but a peevish2 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.
There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him
In parcels as I did, would have gone near
To fall in love with him: but, for my part,
I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet'

i have more cause to hate him than to love him: For what had he to do to chide at me?.

He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black;
And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me:
I marvel, why I answer'd not again:

it that's all one; omittance is no quittance.
I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
And thou shalt bear it; Wilt thou, Silvius?
Sil. Phebe, with all my heart.
Phe.
I'll write it straight;
The matter's in my head, and in my heart:
I will be bitter with him, and passing short:
Go with me, Silvius.

[Exeunt.

ACT IV. SCENE I.-The same. 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.

Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind! Jaq. Nay, then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. [Exit. Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller: Look, you lisp, and wear strange suits; disable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; 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 break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him, that Cupid hath clap'd him o' the shoulder, but I warrant him heart-whole.

Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind.

Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight; I had as lief be woo'd of a snail, Orl. Of a snail?

Ros. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than you can make a woman: Besides, he brings his destiny with him.

Orl. What's that?

Ros. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to be beholden to your wives for: but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife.

Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.

Ros. And I am your Rosalind.

Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath 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; anc when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers, lacking (God warn us!) matter, the cleanliest shif is 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?

Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post. Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, 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 politic; nor the lady's, which is nice ;á Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your nor the lover's, which is all these: but it is a me- mistress; or I should think my honesty ranker than lancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects: and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me, is a most humorous sadness.

my wit.

Orl. What, of my suit?

Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind?

Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I

Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great would be talking of her. reason to be sad: I fear, you have sold your own Ros. Well, in her person, I say-I will not hav lands, to see other men's; then, to have seen much, you.

(1) Peasant.

(2) Silly. (3) Trifling.

(4) Undervalue.

(5) Complexion.

Orl. Then, in mine own person, I die. Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this

stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.

Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he time there was not any man died in his own person, might say,-Wit, whither will? videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till dashed out with a Grecian club; yet he did what you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's he could to die before; and he is one of the pat- bed.

terns of love. Leander, he would have lived many Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse that! a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had Ros. Marry, to say,-she came to seek you there. not been for a hot midsummer night: for, good You shall never take her without her answer, unyouth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hel- less you take her without her tongue. O, that lespont, and, being taken with the cramp, was woman that cannot make her fault her husband's drowned; and the foolish chroniclers of that age occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for found it was-Hero of Sestos. But these are all she will breed it like a fool. 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.

Or!. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave 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

Ros. Yes, faith will 1, Fridays, and Saturdays, of yours won me :-'tis but one cast away, and

and all.

Orl. And wilt thou have me?

Ros. Ay, and twenty such.

Orl. What say'st thou ?

Ros. Are you not good?

Orl. I hope so.

so,-come, death.-Two o'clock is your hour? Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind.

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Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, 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 Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of a you the most pathetical break-promise, and the good thing?-Come, sister, you shall be the priest, most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her and marry us.-Give me your hand, Orlando:-you call Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the What do you say, sister? gross band of the unfaithful: therefore beware my censure, and keep your promise.

Orl. Pray thee, marry us.
Cel. I cannot say the words.

Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert in

Ros. You must begin,-Will you, Orlando,—deed my Rosalind: So, adieu.
Cel. Go to:- -Will you, Orlando, have to wife

this Rosalind?

Orl. I will.

Ros. Ay, but when?

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 love-prate: we must have your doublet and hose Rosa-plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest.

Orl. Why now; as fast as she can marry us. Ros. Then you must say,-I take thee, lind, for wife.

Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

Ros. I might ask you for your commission; but -I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband: There a girl goes before the priest; and, certainly, a woman's thought runs before her actions.

Orl. So do all thoughts; they are winged.
Ros. Now tell me, how long you would have
her, after you have possessed her.
Orl. For ever, and a day.

Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded; my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal.

Cel. Or rather bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out.

Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and born of madness; that blind rascally boy, that Ros. Say a day, without the ever: No, no, Or-abuses every one's eyes, because his own are out, lando; men are April when they woo, December let him be judge, how deep I am in love:-I'll when they wed: maids are May when they are tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. Orlando: I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-come. pigeon over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot against rain; more new-fangled than an ape; more giddy in my desires 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. By my life, she will do as I do.
Orl. O, but she is wise.

Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the wiser, the waywarder: Make the doors1 upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; (1) Bar the doors.

Cel. And I'll sleep.

[Exeun!.

SCENE II.-Another part of the Forest. Enter
Jaques and Lords, in the habit of Foresters.

Jag. Which is he that killed the deer?
1 Lord. Sir, it was I.

Jaq. Let's present him to the duke, like a Ro-
man conqueror; and it would do well to set the
deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of victory:
-Have you no song, forester, for this purpose?
2 Lord. Yes, sir.

Jaq. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune so it make noise enough.

(2) Melancholy.

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