Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you,
If you will mark it.

Ros. (c.) Oh, 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.

[Exeunt, L.

SCENE II.-Another part of the Forest.

Enter PHOEBE and SYLVIUS, r.

Sylv. (R.) Sweet Phoebe, do not scorn me :

Phoebe :

Say that you love me not; but say not so

In bitterness: The common executioner,

:-do not,

Whose heart the accustomed sight of death makes hard,
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, L. U. E.
Phabe. I would not be thy executioner;
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eyes :
Now do I frown on thee with all my heart;

And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee.
Sylv. Oh, dear Phoebe,

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.

Phabe. But, till that time,

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. [Advancing to c.] And why, I pray you ?-Who might be your mother,

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?

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 :-Odd's my little life!
I think she means to tangle mine 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?
You are a thousand times a properer man,
Than she a woman: 'Tis such fools as you
That make the world full of ill-favoured children:
'Tis not her glass, but you, that flatters 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;
Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer:
So, take her to thee, shepherd :-fare you well!
Phabe. Sweet youth, I pray you, chide a year toge
ther;

Ι

I had rather hear you chide. than this man woo.
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 abused in sight as he.

[Exeunt Rosalind, Celia, and Corin, R. Sylv. (L.) Sweet Phoebe !

Phabe. (R.) Ha! what say'st thou, Sylvius ?
Sylv. Sweet Phoebe, pity me!

Phabe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Sylvius.
Sylv. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be.
Phabe. Sylvius, the time was that I hated thee.
And yet
it is not that I bear thee love :
But since that thou can'st talk of love so well,

Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,

1 will endure; and I'll employ thee, too:

Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile?
Sylr. Not very well, burt I have met him oft;

And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds
That the old Carlot once was master of.

Phabe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him; To fall in love with him: but, for my part,

I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet

1 have more cause to hate him than to love him;
For what had he to do to chide at me?

I marvel why I answered not again :
I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
And thou shalt bear it-Wilt thou, Sylvius?
Sylv. Phoebe, with all my heart.
Phabe. 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, Sylvius.

SCENE III.-The Forest.

[Exeunt, L.

Enter ROSALIND, R, and ORLANDO, L.

Orl. (L.) Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind. Ros. (R.) 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 promise.

my

Ros. Break an hour's promise in love! He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of a thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him, that Cupid hath clapped 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 wooed 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.-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; 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 matter, the cleanest shift is to kiss.

Orl. How, if the kiss he denied?

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

new matter.

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

Ros. Am I not your Rosalind?

Orl. 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. 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 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.

Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind, for, I protest, her frown might kill me.

Enter CELIA, R.

Ros. (c.) By this hand, it will not kill a fly! But come, now'l will be your Rosalind, in a more coming-on disposition; and ask me what you will, I will grant it.

Orl. (L. c.) Then love me, Rosalind.

Ros. Yes, 'faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays, 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.

Ros. Why, then, can one desire too much of a good

-What do you say,

thing?—Come, sister, you shall be the priest, and marry us.-Give me your hand, Orlando :sister?

Cel. (R.) I cannot say the words.

Ros. You must begin-Will you, Orlando

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

Orl. I will.

Ros. Ay, but when?

Orl. Why, now; as fast as she can marry us.

Ros. Then you must say I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

Ros. Now, tell me how long would you have her after you have possessed her?

Orl. Forever, and a day.

Ros. Say a day, without the ever; no, nò, 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. [Cel. retires up the Stage.] I will be more jealous of thee, than a Barbary cock-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 hyena, and that, when you are inclined to sleep.

Orl. But will my Rosalind do so?

Ros. By my life, she will do as I do!

Orl. Oh, 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, it will fly with the smoke out at the chimney.

Orl. 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 a neighbour's bed.

Orl. And what wit could have wit to excuse that? Ros. Marry, to say-she came to seek you there. You shall never take her without her answer, unless you take