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the heart of his lover; as a puny tilter, that spurs
his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like al
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
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 teedeth 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.

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Phe. But, 'till that time,

10 Come not thou near me: and when that time comes, Afflict 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:

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.
Nowshew 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 mine]

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 together;

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 look you so upon me?

[eyes 50

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 sule-work. The meaning is, The ill-favour'd seem most ill-favoured, when, though ill-favoured, they are scoffers.

5

Ros.

Act 4. Scene 1.]

AS YOU LIKE IT..

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,
Aud 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:

f you

If y
By giving love, your sorrow and my grief
Were both extermin'd.

do sorrow at my grief in love,

[bourly

Phe. Thou hast my love: Is not that neigh-
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 recompence,
Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd.
Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my love,
And I in such a

of poverty 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 Carlot 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? vet 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 : 'tis well: 15His leg is but so so; and yet

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

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
Toʻtall in love with him: but, for my part,
251 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 remenbred, 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.

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

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

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

The Forest.

ACT IV.

Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques. Jaq. Prythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee.

nor the soldier's, which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which 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 hands.
poor

Juq. Yes, I have gain'd my experience.
Enter Orlando.

Ros. And your experience makes you sad. I

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had rather have a fool to make me merry, than experience to make me sad; and to travel tor it

too.

Orla. Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind! Jaq. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk 5 in blank verse. [Exit. Ros. Farewel, 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 10 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.

15

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 mi-20 nute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him, that Cupid hath clapp'd him o' the shoulder, but Í warrant him heart-whole.

Orla. Pardon me, dear Rosalind.

Orla. What, of my suit?

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

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 dash'd 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 liv'd many a fair year, though Hero had turn'd 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 lyes; 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

Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more 25 mind; for, I protest, her frown might kill me. in my sight, I had as lief be woo'd of a snail.

Orla. Of a snail?

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lind is virtuous.

Ros. And I am your Rosalind.

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, t will grant it.

Orlu. Then love me, Rosalind.

Ros. Yes, faith will Í, Fridays, and Saturdays,

jand 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.

Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing? -Come, sister, you shall be the

Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath 40 priest, and marry us,Give me your hand, Ore

a Rosalind of a better leer' than you.

Ros. Come, wod 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?

Orla. I would kiss, before I spoke.

45

Ros. Nay, you were better speak first; and when you were gravell'd for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers, 50 lacking (God warn us!) matter, the cleanliest shift

is to kiss.

Orla. How if the kiss be denied?

Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins 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.

lando:-What do you say, sister?

Orla. Pray thee, marry us.

Cel. I cannot say the words.

Ros. You must begin,-"Will you, Orlando,"

Cel. Go to:--Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind?

Orła. I will.

Ros. Ay, but when?

Orla. Why now; as fast as she can marry us. Ros. Then you must say," I take thee Rosaiind, for wife."

Oria. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

Ros. I might ask you for your commission; but I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband: There's 554 girl goes before the priest; and, certainly, a woman's thought runs before her actions.

60

Orla. So do all thoughts; they are wing'd. Ros. Now tell me, how long would you have her, after you have possess'd her?

Orla. For ever, and a day.

That is, been at Venice, which was much visited by the young English gentlemen of those times, and was then, what Paris is now-the seat of all licentiousness. i. e. of a better feature, complexion, or colour, than you. Hanmer and Edwards read Coroner's, which I approve. S, A.

3

Ros

Ros. Say a day, without the ever: No, no, Or-
lando; 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- 5
pigeon over his hen; more clamorous than a par-
rot 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 dispos'd to be merry;
I will laugh like a hyen, and that when thou art
inclin'd to sleep.

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

10

pluck'd over your head, and shew the world what the bird hath done to her own nest.

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, conceiv'd 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 sight of Orlan 15 do: I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come. Cel. And I'll sleep. [Exeunt.

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, it will fly with the smoak out at the 20 chimney.

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

Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it 'till you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.

Orla. And what wit could wit have to excuse that?

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Enter Jaques, Lords, and Foresters.
Jaq. Which is he that kill'd the deer?
Lord. Sir, it was I.

Jaq. Let's present him to the duke like a Roman conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of victory: 25-Have you no song, forester, for this purpose? For. Yes, sir.

Ros. Marry, to say,-she came to seek you there. You shall never take her without her an-30 swer, 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!

Orla. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will 35 leave thee.

Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. Orla. 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 40 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'the clock is your hour? Orla. Ay, sweet Rosalind.

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

Musick, Song.

1. What shall he have, that kill'd the deer?.
2. His leather skin, and horns to wear.
1. Then sing him home:

Take thou no scorn

To wear the horn, the lusty horn;
It was a crest ere thou wast born.

1. Thy father's father wore it;
2. And thy father bore it :
The horn, the horn, the lusty horn,
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.

SCENE III..

Enter Rosalind, and Celia.

The rest

shall bear

this bar

den.

[Exeunt.

Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock and here's much Orlando!

|45|| Cel. Iwarrant you, with pure love, and troubled
brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and is gone
forth-to sleep: Look, who comes here.
Enter Silvius.

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 you the most pathetical break-promise, and the 50 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.

Orla. With no less religion, than if thou wert 55 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 60 Love-prate: we must have your doublet and hose

i, e, bar the doors.

Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth ;-
My gentle Phebe bid me give you this:

[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 tenour: pardon me,

I am but as a guiltless messenger. [this letter,
Ros. [reading.] Patience herself would startle at
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 loveme
Were man as rare as phoenix: 'Od's my will!

That is, represent her fault as occasioned by her husband.

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-coloured hand; I verily did think
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands:
She has a buswife'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.

5

Enter Olizer.

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

Cel. 'West of this place, down in the neighbour
bottom,

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,
10 There's none within.

Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Then should I know you by description;
Such

garments, and such years: "The boy is fair,
"Of female favour, and bestows himself
15" Like a ripe sister: but the woman low,
"And browner than her brother." Are not you
The owner of the house I did enquire for?

Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel stile,
A stile 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 [letter?
Than in their countenance :-Will you hear the 20
Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet;
Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty.

Ros. She Phebe's 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?

Sil. Call you this railing?

Ros. [Reads.] "Why, thy godhead laid apart, "War'st thou with a woman's heart?" Did you ever hear such railing?

"Whiles the eye of man did woo me, That could do no vengeance' to me."Meaning me a beast.—

"If the scorn of your bright eyne
"Have power to raise such love in mine,
"Alack, in me what strange effect
"Would they work in mild aspect?
"Whiles you chid me, I did love;
"How then might your prayers move?
"He, that brings this love to thee,
"Little knows this love in me:
"And by him seal up thy mind;
"Whether that thy youth and kind2
"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!

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 3; Are you he?
Ros. Iam: 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
25 This handkerchief was stain'd.

Cel. I pray you, tell it.

[you,

Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from
He left a promise to return again
Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest,
30 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,
35 A wretched ragged man, o'er grown
with hair,

Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck
A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself,
Who with herhead, nimble in threats, approach'd
The opening of his mouth; but suddenly

40 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, 45 When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis The royal disposition of that beast,

50

Ros. Do you pity him? no, he deserves no 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 55 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 intreat for her." If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company.

[Exit Silvius.

To prey on nothing that doth seem as dead:
This seen, Orlando did approach the man,
And found it was his brother, his elder brother.
Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same
brother,

And he did render him the most unnatural
That liv'd 'mongst men.

Oli. And well he might so do,
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,
60 And nature, stronger than his just occasion,
Made him give battle to the lioness,

1i.e. mischief. 2 Kind (as has been more than once observed) is the old word for nature. 3i. e. handkerchief.

Who

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