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all these; but it is a melancholy 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.

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, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands. Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience.

Enter Orlando.

Ro3. And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have a fool to make me merry, than experience to make me sad: and to travel for it too.

verse.

Orla. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind ! Jaq. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank [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.

Orla. 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 clapt || him o' the shoulder, but I warrant him heart-whole. Orla. Pardon me, dear Rosalind.

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

Orla. 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.

Orla. 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. Orla. 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, and I were your very very Rosalind?

Orla. 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. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers, lacking (God warn ts!) matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.

Orla. How if the kiss be denied?

Orla. 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. Orla. 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 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 patterns 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. Orla. 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 à fly: But come, now I will be your Rosalind, in a more coming-on disposition; and ask we what you will, I will grant it. Orla. Then love me, Rosalind.

Ros. Yes, faith will I, Fridays, and Saturdays, and all.
Orla. And wilt thou have me?

Ros. Ay, and twenty such.
Orla. What say'st thou ?
Ros. Are you not good?
Orla. I hope so.

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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 cock-pigeon over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot against rain; more newfangled than an ape; more giddy in my desires than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the

Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins fountain, and I will do that when you are disposed to

new matter.

Orla. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?

Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress; or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit. Orla. What, of my suit?

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

be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep.

Orla. But will my Rosalind do so?
Ros. By my life, she will do as I do.
Orla. O, but she is wise.

Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the wiser the waywarder: Make the doors 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.

Oria. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say,-Wit, whither wilt?

Ras. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till you met your wife's wit, going to your neighbour's bed. Oria. And what wit could wit have to excuse that? Res. Marry, to say,-she came to seek you there. You shall never take her, without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool.

Oria. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. Orla. I must attend the duke at dinner; by two e'clock I will be with thee again.

Rez. 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?

Orla. Ay, sweet Rosalind.

Res. 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 you the most pathetical break-promise, and the most hollow lover, and the 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. Oria. 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 Orla.

Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your loveprate: we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest.

Ras. 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.

Res. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and born of madness; that blind rascally boy, that abuses every one's eyes, because his own are out, let him be judge, how deep I am in love:-I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando: I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come.

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[Giving a letter.

I know not the contents; but, as I guess,
By the stern brow, and waspish action
Which she did use as she was writing of it,
It bears an angry tenor: pardon me,

I am but as a guiltless messenger.

Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter, And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all: She says, I am not fair; that I lack manners; She calls me proud; and, that she could not love me Were man as rare as phoenix; Od's my will! Her love is not the hare that I do hunt: Why writes she so to me?-Well, shepherd, well, This is a letter of your own device.

Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents; Phebe did write it.

Ros. Come, come, you are a fool, And turn'd into the extremity of love. I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand, A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands; She has a huswife's hand: but that's no matter; I say, she never did invent this letter; This is a man's invention, and his hand.

Sil. Sure, it is hers.

Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and cruel style, A style for challengers; why, she defies me, Like Turk to Christian: woman's gentle brain Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention; Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect Than in their countenance :-Will you hear the letter? Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. Ros. She Phebes me: Mark how the tyrant writes. [Reads.] Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, That a maiden's heart hath burn'd?— Can a woman rail thus ?

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Little knows this love in me:
And by him seal up thy mind;
Whether that thy youth and kind
Will the faithful offer take
Of me, and all that I can make;
Or else by him my love deny,

And then I'll study how to die.

Sil. Call you this chiding?
Cel. Alas, poor shepherd!

Ros. Do you pity him? no, he deserves ne pity.Wilt thou love such a woman?-What, to make thee an instrument, and play false strains upon thee! not to be endured!-Well, go your way to her, (for I see, love hath made thee a tame snake,) and say this to her;-That if she love me, I charge her to love thee: if she will not, I will never have her, unless thou entreat for her. If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company. [Exit Sil.

Enter Oliver.

Oli. Good-morrow, fair ones: Pray you, if you know Where, in the purlieus of this forest, stands A sheep-cote, fenc'd about with olive-trees?

Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour bot

tom,

The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream, Left on your right hand, brings you to the place: But at this hour the house doth keep itself, There's none within.

Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue, Then I should know you by description; Such garments, and such years: The boy is fair, Of female favour, and bestows himself Like a ripe sister: but the woman low, And browner than her brother. Are not you The owner of the house I did inquire for? Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are. Oli. Orlando doth commend him to you both; And to that youth, he calls his Rosalind, He sends this bloody napkin; Are you he?

Ros. I am: What must we understand by this? Oli. Some of my shame; if you will know of me What man I am, and how, and why, and where This handkerchief was stain'd.

Cel.

I pray you, tell it.

Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from you,
He left a promise to return again
Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest,
Chewing the food of sweet and bitter fancy,
Lo, what befel! he threw his eye aside,
And, mark, what object did present itself!
Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age,
And high top bald with dry antiquity,

A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck
A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself,
Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd
'The opening of his mouth; but suddenly
Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself,
And with indented glides did slip away
Into a bush: under which bush's shade
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,
Lay couching, head on ground, with cat-like watch,
When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis
The royal disposition of that beast,

To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead:
This seen, Orlando did approach the man,

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For well I know he was unnatural.

Ros. But, to Orlando ;-Did he leave him there, Food to the suck'd and hungry lioness?

Oli. Twice did he turn his back, and purpos'd so :
But kindness, nobler ever than revenge,

And nature, stronger than his just occasion,
Made him give battle to the lioness,
Who quickly fell before him; in which hurtling,
From miserable slumber I awak'd.
Cel. Are you his brother?
Ros.
Was it you he rescu’d?
Cel. Was't you that did so oft eontrive to kill him?
Oli. 'Twas I; but 'tis not I: I do not shame
To tell you what I was, since my conversion
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.
Ros. But, for the bloody napkin?

Oli.
By, and by.
When from the first to last, betwixt us two,
Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd,
As, how I came into that desert place ;-
In brief, he led me to the gentle duke,
Who gave me fresh array, and entertainment,
Committing me unto my brother's love;
Who led me instantly unto his cave,

There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm
The lioness had torn some flesh away,

Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted,

And cry'd, in fainting, upon Rosalind.

Brief, I recover'd him; bound up his wound;
And, after some small space, being strong at heart,
He sent me hither, stranger as I am,

To tell this story, that you might excuse
His broken promise, and to give this napkin,
Dy'd in this blood, unto the shepherd youth
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.
Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede ?-sweet Gany-
mede?
[Rosalind faints.
Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on blood.
Cel. There is more in it :-Cousin-Ganymede!
Oli. Look, he recovers.

Ros.
Cel. We'll lead you thither:-

would I were at home.

I pray you, will you take him by the arm?

Oli. Be of good cheer, youth:-You a man?-you lack a man's heart.

Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sir, a body would think this was well counterfeited: I pray you, tell your brother how well I counterfeited.-Heigh ho!

Oli. This was not counterfeit; there is too great testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion

of earnest.

Ros Counterfeit, I assure you.

Oli. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to be a man.

Ros. So I do: but, i'faith I should have been a woman by right.

Cel. Come, you look paler and paler; pray you, draw homewards :-Good sir, go with us.

Oli. That will I, for I must bear answer back How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.

Ros. I shall devise something: But, I pray you commend my counterfeiting to him:-Will you go? [Exeunt.

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Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown: By my troth, we that have good wits, have much to answer for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold. Wil. Good even, Audrey.

Aud. God ye good even, William.

Wil. And good even to you, sir.

Touch. Good even, gentle friend: Cover thy head, cover thy head; nay, pr'ythee, be covered. How old are you, friend?

Wil. Five and twenty, sir.

Touch. A ripe age: Is thy name William?

Wil. William, sir.

Touch. A fair name: Wast born i' the forest here?
Wil. Ay, sir, I thank God.

Touch. Thank God;-a good answer: Art rich?
Wil. Faith, sir, so, so.

Touch. So, so, is good, very good, very excellent good:-and yet it is not; it is but so so. Art thou wise?

Wil, Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.

Touch. Why, thou say'st well. I do now remember a saying; The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool. The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth; meaning thereby, that grapes were made to eat, and lips to open. You do love this maid?

Wil. I do, sir.

Touch. Give me your hand: Art thou learned?
Wil. No, sir.

Touch. Then learn this of me; To have, is to have: For it is a figure in rhetoric, that drink, being poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the other: For all your writers do consent, that ipe is he; now you are not ipse, for I am he.

Wil. Which he, sir?

Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman: Therefore, you clown, abandon,-which is in the vulgar, leave, the society,-which in the boorish is company, -of this female,-which in the common is,-woman, which together is, abandon the society of this female; or, clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest; to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death, thy liberty into bondage: I will deal in poison with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel; I will bandy with thee in faction; I will o'errun thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways; therefore tremble, and depart. Aud. Do, good William.

Wil. God rest you merry, sir.

Enter Corin.

SCENE II.-The same. Enter Orlando and Oliver. Orla. Is't possible, that on so little acquaintance you should like her? that, but seeing, you should love her? and, loving, woo? and, wooing, she should grant? And will you persever to enjoy her?

Oli. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but say with me, I love Aliena; say with her, that she loves me; consent with both, that we may enjoy each other: it shall be to your good; for my father's house, and all the revenue that was old sir Rowland's, will I estate upon you, and here live and die a shepherd.

Enter Rosalind.

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Ros. I thought thy heart had beer wounded with the claws of a lion.

Orla. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. Ros. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon, when he showed me your handkerchief? Orla. Ay, and greater wonders than that.

Ros. O, I know where you are:-Nay, 'tis true; there was never any thing so sudden, but the fight of two rams, and Caesar's thrasonical brag of-1 cume, saw, and overcame: For your brother and my sister no sooner met, but they looked; no scaner looked, but they loved; no sooner loved, but they sighed; no sooner sighed, but they asked one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason, but they sought the remedy: and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage, which they will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage: they are in the very wrath of love, and they will together; clubs cannot part them.

Oria. They shall be married to-morrow; and I will bid the duke to the nuptial. But, O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes! By so much the more shall I to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much f shall think my brother happy, in having what he wishes for.

Ros. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind?

Orla. I can live no longer by thinking.

Ros. I will weary you no longer then with idle talking. Know of me then, (for now I speak to some purpose,) that I know you are a gentleman of good conceit: I speak not this, that you should bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch, I say, I know you are; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in some little measure draw a belief from you, to do yourself good, and not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things: I have, since I was three years old, conversed with a magician, most profound in this art, and yet not damnable. If you do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gestures [Exit. cries it out, when your brother marries Alena, shall you marry her: I know into what straits of fortune she is driven; and it is not impossible to me, if it ap pear not inconvenient to you, to set her before your eyes to-morrow, human as she is, and without any danger.

Cor. Our master and mistress seek you; come, a

way, away.

Touch. Trip, Audrey, trip, Audrey ;-I attend, I attend. [Exeunt.

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Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers. Phe. Youth, you have done me much ungentleness, To show the letter that I writ to you.

Ros. I care not, if I have: it is my study,
To seem despiteful and ungentle to you:
You are there followed by a faithful shepherd;
Look upon him, love him; he worships you.
Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love.
Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears ;-
And so am I for Phebe.

Phe. And I for Ganymede.
Orla. And I for Rosalind.

Ros. And I for no woman.

Sil. It is to be all made of faith and service ;

And so am I for Phebe.

Phe. And I for Ganymede.

Orla. And I for Rosalind.

Ros. And I for no woman.

Sil. It is to be all made of fantasy,

All made of passion, and all made of wishes;
All adoration, duty and observance,

All humbleness, all patience, and impatience,
All purity, all trial, all observance ;-
And so am I for Phebe.

Phe. And so am I for Ganymede.
Orla. And so am I for Rosalind.

Ros. And so am I for no woman. Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to love yon? [To Ros. Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to love you; [To Phe. Orla. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? Ros. Who do you speak to, why blame you me to love you?

Orla. To her, that is not here, nor doth not hear. Ros. Pray you no more of this; 'tis like the howling of Irish wolves against the moon.-I will help you, if I can, [To Silvius.]-I would love you, if I could; [To Phebe.]-To-morrow meet me all togethcr.-I will marry you, [To Phebe] if ever I marry woman, and I'll be married to-morrow.-I will satisfy you, [To Orlando] if ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married to-morrow: I will content you, [To Silvius] if what pleases you contents you, and you shall be married to-morrow.-As you love Rosalind, meet; [To Orlando.]-As you love Phebe, meet; [To Silvius.]-And as I love no woman, I'll meet.-So, fare commands. you you well; I have left Sil. I'll not fail, if I live.

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Ros. And you say, you will have her, when I bring her? [To Orlando. Orla. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. Ros. You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing? [To Phebe

Phe. That will I, should I die the hour after. Ros. But, if you do refuse to marry me, You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd ? Phe. So is the bargain.

Ros. You say, that you'll have Phebe, if she will? [To Silvius.

Sil. Though to have her and death were both one

thing.

Ros. I have promis'd to make all this matter even.

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