Sir? you are very well met: God'ild you for your laft company! I am very glad to see you; even a toy in hand here, Sir: nay; pray be covered. Jaq. Will you be married, Motley? Clo. As the ox hath his bow, Sir, the horse his curb, and the faulcon his bells, fo man hath his defire; and as pigeons bill, fo wedlock would be nibling. faq. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a bufh like a beggar? get you to church, and have a good prieft that can tell you what marriage is; this fellow will but join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will prove a fhrunk 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 like to marry me well; and not being well married, it will be a good excufe for me hereafter to leave my wife. Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. Clo. Come, fweet Audrey, we must be married, or we muft live in bawdry: farewel, good Mr. Oliver; not O fweet Oliver, O brave Oliver, leave me not behind thee but wind away, be gone, I fay, I will not to wedding with thee. Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantaftical knave of them all fhall flout me out of my calling. [Exeunt. SCENE X. Enter Rofalind and Celia. Rof. Never talk to me, I will weep. Celia. Do, I pr'ythee; but yet have the grace to confider that tears do not become a man, Rof. But have I not cause to weep? Cel. As good caufe as one would defire, therefore weep. Rof. His very hair is of a diffembling colour. Cel. Something browner than Judas's: marry his kiffes are Judas's own children, Rof. I'faith his hair is of a good colour, Cel. An excellent colour: your chefnut was ever the only colour. Rof. And his kiffing is as full of fanctity as the touch of holy beard,* Meaning the kifs of charity from Hermits and holy men. Cel Cel. He hath bought a pair of caft lips of Diana; a num of winter's fifterhood kiffes not more religioufly; the very ice of chastity is in them. Rof. But why did he fwear he would come this morning, and comes not ? Cel. Nay, certainly there is no truth in him. Cel. Yes, I think he is not a pick-purse, nor a horfefealer; but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a cover'd goblet, or a worm-eaten nut. Rof. Not true in love? Cel. Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in. Rof. You have heard him fwear downright he was. Cel. Was, is not, is; befides, the oath of a lover is no ftronger than the word of a tapfter; they are both the confirmers of falle reckonings; he attends here in the foreft on the Duke your father. Rof. I met the Duke yefterday, and had much question with him he afkt me of what parentage I was; I told him of as good as he; fo he laugh'd, and let me go. But what talk we of fathers when there is fuch a man as Orlando ? Cel. O, that's a brave man, he writes brave verfes, fpeaks brave words, fwears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely; quite travers athwart the heart of his lover, as a puifny tilter, that fpurs his horfe but on one fide, breaks his ftaff like nofe-quill'd goofe; but all's brave that youth mounts and folly guides: who comes here? Enter Corin. Cor. Miftrefs and mafter, you have oft enquir'd Cel. Well, and what of him? Cor. If you will fee a pageant truly plaid Between the pale complexion of true love, And the red glow of fcorn and proud disdain. nj Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you, If you will mark it, Ref. Rof. O come, let us remove; The fight of lovers feedeth thofe in love: I'll prove a bufy actor in their play. [Exeunt. SCENE XI. Enter Sylvius and Phebe. Syl. Sweet Phebe, do not fcorn me, do not, Phebe; Say that you love me not, but say not fo In bitterness; the common executioner, Whofe heart th' accuftom'd fight of death makes hard, But firft begs pardon: will you fterner be Phe. I would not be thy executioner, I fly thee, for I would not injure thee. That eyes that are the frail'ft and fofteft things, And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee: Now fhew the wound mine eyes have made in thee; The cicatrice and capable impreffure Thy palm fome moment keeps: but now mine eyes, Nor, I am fure, there is no force in eyes That can do any hurt. Syl. O my dear Phebe, If ever (as that ever may be near) You meet in fome fresh cheek the power of fancy, That love's keen arrows make. Phe. But 'till that time Come not thou near me; and when that time comes, Afflia Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not, Rof. And why, I pray you? who might be your mother, That you infult, exult and domineer Over the wretched? what though you have fome beauty, Than without candle may go dark to bed,) Sell when you can, you are not for all markets. Rof. He's fallen in love with her foulnefs, and fhe'll fall in love with my anger. If it be fo, as fast as the answers thee with frowning looks, I'll fauce her with bitter words : Why look you fo upon me? Phe. For no ill-will I bear you. Rof. I pray you, do not fall in love with me, By the word foul here is meant frowning, lowring. -For For I am falfer than vows made in wine; Befides, I like you not. If you will know my house, Will you go, fifter? fhepherd, ply her hard : Come, to our flock. [Ex. Rof. Cel. and Cor, Phe. 'Deed, fhepherd, now I find thy faw of might, Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first fight? Syl. Sweet Phebe ! Pbe. Hah: what fay't thou, Sylvius ? Syl. Sweet Phebe, pity me. Phe. Why, I am forry for thee, gentle Sylvius, By giving love your forrow and my grief Were both extermin'd. Phe. Thou haft my love; is not that neighbourly? Pheb. Why, that were covetousness. That the main harveft reaps: loofe now and then A scattered smile, and that I'll live upon. Phe. Know'ft thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile? And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds Phe. Think not I love him, tho' I ask for him: But |