Orla. I do desire we may be better strangers. Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with writ ing love-songs in their barks.

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

Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name?

Orla. Yes, just.

Jaq. I do not like her name.

Orla. There was no thought of pleasing you, when she was christen'd.

Jaq. What stature is she of? Orla. Just as high as my heart. Jaq. You are full of pretty answers: Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conn'd then out of rings?

Orla. Not so: but I answer you right painted cloth', from whence you have studied your questions.

Orla. 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 5 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.

10

15

Jaq. You have a nimble wit; I think it was made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with 20 me; and we two will rail against our mistress, the world, and all our misery?

Orla. 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. 25 Orla. 'Tis a fault I would 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.

Orla. He is drown'd in the brook; look but in, and you shall see him.

Juq. There I shall see mine own figure. Orla. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cypher.

Orla. Whom 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.

Orla. 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.

Orla. Where dwell you, pretty youth?

Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. Orla. Are you a native of this place?

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

Orla. 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; 30 and I thank God I am not a woman, to be touch'd with so many giddy offences as he hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal.

Jag. I'll tarry no longer with you: farewel, 35 good signior Love. [Exit.

Orla. I am glad of your departure: adieu, good monsieur Melancholy.[Cel.and Ros.come forward Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, and under that habit play the knave with him.-40 Do you hear, forester?

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

Orla. 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.

Orla. 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.

Orla. 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, 45 deifying the name of Rosalind: 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.

Orla. And why not the swift foot of time? had 50 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,

55

Oria. I pr'ythee, whom doth he trot withal? Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, between the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemniz'd: if the interim be but a se'nnight, time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of 60 seven years.

Orla. I am he that is so love-shak'd; 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 cage of rushes, I am sure, you are not prisoner.

Orla. What are 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 a beard is la younger brother's revenue:-Then your hose

'Alluding to the fashion, in old tapestry hangings, of mottos and moral sentences issuing from the mouths of the figures in them. Inland is here used to mean a civilized person, in opposition to a

rustick.

i. e. a spirit not inquisitive.

should

'These seem to have been the marks by which the votaries of love were usually characterised in the time of Shakspeare. Meaning, perhaps, a lasting, permanent humour of madness. Nothing (Warburton says) was ever wrote in higher humour than this simile. A great reckoning in a little room, implies that the entertainment was mean, and the bill extravagant. The poet here alluded to the Frenca proverbial phrase of the quarter of hour of Rabelais; who said, there was only one quarter of an hour in human life passed ill, and that was between the calling for the reckoning and paying it. 4 i, e. fool with matter in him; a fool stocked with ideas. ți. e. what then?

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 5
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 batchelor: and by how much defence is better
than no skill, so much is a horn more precious 10

than to want.

Enter Sir Oliver Mar-text.

Here comes Sir Oliver :-Sir1 Oliver Mar-text,
you are well met: Will you dispatch us here under
this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel? 15
Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman?
Clo. I will not take her on gift of any man.
Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the mar-
riage is not lawful.

Jaq. [discovering himself.] Proceed, proceed; 20
I'll give her.

Clo. 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; 25 pray, be covered.

Jaq. Will you be married, motley?

Clo. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be 30 nibbling.

Juq. 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 35 join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will prove a shrunk pannel, and, like green timber, warp, warp.

Clo. I am not in the mind but I were better to be married of him than of another: for he is not 40 like to marry me well: and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife.

Jag. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.

Clo. 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 behind thee;

45

[Exeunt.

Enter Rosalind and Celia.
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 ; therefore weep.

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

Ros. '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 beard.

Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun of winter's sisterhood' kisses not more religiously; 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

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 ine 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 50 verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, Jand breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart 1

7

the

' He who has taken his first degree in the university, is in the academical style called Dominus, and in common language was heretofore termed Sir. i. e God yield you, God reward you. i. e. his yoke. * Part of an old ballad. Dr. Johnson thinks these are two quotations put in opposition to each other, and for wind proposes to read wend, the old word for go; though it must be observed, that wind away and wind og are still used in some counties. See note 5, p. 50. Dr. Warburton says, that Shakspeare here means an unfruitful sisterhood, which had devoted itself to chastity. For as those who were of the sisterhood of the spring, were the votaries of Venus; those of summer the votaries of Ceres; those of autumn, of Pomona; so those of the sisterhood of winter were the votaries of Diana; called, of winter, because that quarter is not, like the other three, productive of fruit or increase. Q. Does not a nun of winter's sisterhood convey the same meaning as a nun of Windsor's sisterhood? Meaning perhaps an empty goblet. i. e. conversation. 10 Warburton explains this passage as follows: An unexperienced lover is here compared to apuny tilter, to whom it was a disgrace to have his lance broken

8

across,

Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft enquired
After the shepherd that complain'd of love;
Whom 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 but to this sight, and you shall say
I'll prove a busy actor in their play.

SCENE V.

Another part of the forest.

Enter Silvius and Phebe.

5

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,

10 Come not thou near me: and when that time comes, Aflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;

As, 'till that time, I shall not pity thee.

Ros. And why, I pray you ?-Who might be
your mother,

15 That you insult, exult, and all at once,
Over the wretched? What though you have beauty,
(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?

[Exeunt. 20 Why, what means this? Why do you look on me?
I see no more in you, than in the ordinary
Of nature's sale-work:-Od's, my little life!

I think, she means to tangle mine eyes too :-
No, 'faith, proud mistress, hope not after it;

Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, 25 'Tis not your inky brows, your black-silk hair,

Phebe:

Say, that you love me not; but say not so
In bitterness: The common executioner, [hard,
Whose heart the accustomed sight of death makes
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.
Phe. I would not be thy executioner:
Ifly 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 do I frown on thee with all my heart;
And, if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill
thee:

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?
30 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,
35 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:
40 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 to-
gether;

45 I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo. Ros. [aside.] 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 better words.-Why [eyes 50 look you so upon me?

Now counterfeit to swoon; why, now fall down:
Or, if thou can'st not, oh, for shame, for shame,
Lye not, to say mine eyes are murderers.
Now shew the wound mine eyes have 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 inine]

Phe. For no ill will I bear you.

across, as it was a mark either of want of courage or address. This happened when the horse flew on one side, in the career; and hence, I suppose, arose the jocular proverbial phrase of spurring the horse only on one side. Now as breaking the lance against his adversary's breast, in a direct line, was honourable, so the breaking it across against his breast was, for the reason above, dishonourable.

Sir T. Hanmer changed this to a nose-quill'd goose, but no one appears to have regarded the alteration. Certainly nose-quill'd is an epithet likely to be corrupted; and it gives the image wanted. To die and live by a thing is to be constant to it, to persevere in it to the end. The meaning therefore of the passage may be, who is all his life conversant with bloody drops. Fancy is here used for love. *i.e. all in a breath. i. e. those works that nature makes up carelessly and without exactness. The allusion is to the practice of mechanicks, whose work bespoke is more elaborate than that which is made up for chance customers, or to sell in quantities to retailers, which is called sale-work. "The meaning is, The ill-favour'd seem most ill-favoured, when, though ill-favoured, they are scoffers.

Ros:

:

Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me;
For I am faser 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:-5
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 Ros.Cel.and Corin.
Phe. Dear shepherd, now I find thy saw of 10|
might;

Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?
Sil. Sweet Phebe !

Phe. Hah! 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.

[bourly

Phe. Thou hast my love: Is not that neigh-
Sit. 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 recompence,
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

Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft;
And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds,
That the old Cariot once was master of.

Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him.
Tis but a peevish 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 very tall; yet for his years he's tall:
15 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 dif ference

20 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,
25 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 remembred, scorn'd at me:

30 marvel, why I answer'd not again:
But 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;

That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then 35
A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon.
Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me
ere-while?

The matter's in my head, and in my heart:
I will be bitter with him, and passing short:
Go with me, Silvius.

[Exeunt.

nor the soldier's, which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politick; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these: but 50 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 in a most humorous sadness.

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 55 abominable fellows; and betray themselves to every modern censure, worse than drunkards.

Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post. Jag. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, 60 which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud;

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 gain'd my experience.
Enter Orlando.

Ros. And your experience makes you sad: I