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the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemnized. If the interim be but a se'nnight, time's pace is so hard, that it seems the length of seven years.

Orl. Who ambles time withal ?

Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man that hath not the gout; for the one sleeps easily because he cannot study, and the other lives merrily because he feels no pain. These time ambles withal.

Orl. Whom doth he gallop withal ?
Ros. With a thief to the gallows; for,

though he softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.

Orl. Who stays it withal ?

Ros. With lawyers in the vacation ; for they sleep between term and term, and then they perceive not how time moves.

Celia advances. 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. 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 inland man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it; and I thank heaven I am not a wo man to be touched with so many giddy offences, as he hath generally taxed their whole sex withal.

Orl. Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of women?

Ros. They were none principal; they were all like one another, as halfpence are: every one fault seeming mon strous, till his fellow fault came to match it.

Orl. I pr’ythee, recount some of them.

Ros. No; I will not cast away my physic but on those that are sick. (Celia retires up the Stage.] There is a man haunts the forest that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind. If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him.

Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked; I pray you, teil 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.

Orl. What were his marks ?
Ros. A lean cheek; which you

have not: a blue eye, and sunken; which you have not: an unquestionable spirit; which you have not: a beard neglected; which you have not :-but I pardon you for that; for, simply, your having no beard is a younger brother's revenue.—Then your hose should be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and everything about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man; you are rather point device in your accoutrements—as loving yourself than seeming the lover of

any other.

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

Ros. Me believe it ! you may as soon make her that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to confess she does ; that is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences.—But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired ?

Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.

Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes 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, he effeminate--changeable-longing, and likiug; proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears—full of smiles; for every passion, something, and for no passion, truly, anything, as boys and women are, for the most part, cattle of this colour: would now like

Tell me

him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love, to a living humour of madness; which was, to forswear the full stream of the world, and to live in a nook, merely monastic. And thus I cured him; and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clear as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't.

Orl. I would not be cured, youth. Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and come every day to my cote and woo me.

Orl. Now, by the faith of my love, I will ! where it is.

Ros. Go with me to it, and I will show it you; and, by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest you live. Will you go?

Celia advances. Ori. With all my heart, good youth.

Ros. Nay, nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, sister, will you go?

Exeunt, R. Enter TouCHSTONE and AUDREY, R. Touch. (L.) Come apace, good Audrey; I will fetch up your goats, Audrey : And how, Audrey ? Am I the man yet ? doth my simple feature content you?

Aud. (R. c.) 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. When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward child, understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room: Truly, I would the gods had made thee poet ical!

Aud. I do not know what poetical is : Is it honest in deed and word ? Is it a true thing?

Touch. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry; and, what they swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers, they do feign.

Aud. And 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 that thou did'st feign.

Aud. Would you not have me honest ?

Touch. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favoured : for honesty coupled to beauty is to have honey a sauce to sugar.

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, 1 am foul.

Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness ! 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. Aud. Well, the gods give us joy!

(Capers clumsily up the Stage. Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger in this attempt : for here we have no teniple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what, though? Courage! as horns are odious, they are necessary. It is said many a man knows no end of his goods : right; many a man has good horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his own getting. Horns ? Even so :-Poor men alone ? -No, no; the noblest deer has them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore blessed ? No; as a walled town is worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor,

Come, sweet Audrey;
We must be married, or we must live in bawdry.

[Exeunt, L.

END OF ACT III.

ACT IV.

I will weep.

SCENE I.-The Forest.

Enter. ROSALIND and CELIA, R. Ros. (L. c.) Never talk to me,

Cel. (R. c.) 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. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not?

Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
Pos. 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.

Col. 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, upon 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 laughed, and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando?

Cel. Oh, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely; but all's brave that youth mounts and folly guides :—Who comes here?

Enter Corin, L. Corin. (L.) Mistress and master, you have oft inquired After the shepherd that complained 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 ?

Corin. If you will see a pageant truly played
Between the pale complexion of true love
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,

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