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EPILOGUE.

Ros. If it be true, that good wine needs no bush, 't is true, that a good play needs no epilogue: Yet to good wine they do use good bushes; and good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue, nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play? I am not furnish'd like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become me: my way is, to conjure you ; and I'll begin with the women. I charge you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as pleases them: and so I charge you, O men, for the love you bear to women, (as, I perceive by your simpering, none of you hate them,) that between you and the women, the play may please. If I were among you, I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleas'd me, and complexions that lik'd me: and, I am sure, as many as have good beards, or good faces, will, for my kind offer, when I make curt'sy, bid me farewell.

[Exeunt.

THE END.

ERRATUM.

Page 16, line 20, for one of suits, read, one out of suits.

Printed by S. Gosnell, Little Queen Street, London.

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To tell you what I was, since my conversion
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.
Ros. But, for the bloody napkin ?—
Oli. By, and by.-

When, from the first to last, betwixt us two,
Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd,
As, how I came into that desert place ;--
In brief, he led me to the gentle duke,
Who gave me fresh array, and entertainment,
Committing me unto my brother's love;
Who led me instantly unto his cave,
There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm
The lioness had torn some flesh away,

Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted,

And cry'd, in fainting, upon Rosalind.

Brief, I recover'd him; bound up his wound
And, after some small space, being strong at heart,
He sent me hither, stranger as I am,

To tell this story, that you might excuse
His broken promise, and to give this napkin,
Dy'd in this blood, unto the shepherd youth
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.

I

[Rosalind faints. Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede? sweet Garymede!

Oli. Many will swoon when they do look on blood. Cel. There is more in it :—Cousin Ganymede ! Oli. Look, he recovers.

Ros. I would, I were at home.

Cel. We'll lead you thither :—

pray you, will you take him by the arm?

Oli. Be of good cheer, youth:—You a man You lack a man's heart.

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Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sir, a body would think this was well counterfeited: I pray you, tell your brother how well I counterfeited. Heigh ho!— Oli. This was not counterfeit; there is too great testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion of earnest.

Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you. f

Oli. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to be a man.

Ros. So I do: but, i' faith, I should have been a woman by right.

Cel. Come, you look paler and paler; pray you, draw homewards :—Good sir, go with us.

Oli. That will I; for I must bear answer back How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.

Ros. I shall devise something: But, I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him.

END OF ACT, IV.

[Exeunt.

ACT V.

SCENE I.

A Part of the Forest.

Enter Touchstone, and Audrey.

Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey.

Aud. 'Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman's saying.

Touch. A most wicked sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Mar-text. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you.

Aud. Ay, I know who 't is; he hath no interest in me in the world: here comes the man you mean.

Touch. It is meat and drink to me to see a clown: By my troth, we that have good wits, have much to answer for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold. Enter William.

Will. Good even, Audrey.

Will. And good even to you, sir.

Touch. Good even, gentle friend: Cover thy head, cover thy head; nay, pr'ythee, be cover'd. How old are you, friend?

Will. Five and twenty, sir.

Touch. A ripe age: Is thy name, William?

Will. William, sir.

Touch. A fair name: Wast born i' the forest here? Will. Ay, sir, I thank heaven.

Touch. Thank heaven :—a good answer :—Art rich? Will. 'Faith, sir, so, so.

Touch. So, so, is good, very good, very excellent good and yet it is not; it is but so so. : Art thou

wise?

Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit.

Touch. Why, thou say'st well. I do now remember a saying; The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool. fool. The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth; meaning thereby, that grapes were made to eat, and lips to open. You do love this maid?

Will. I do, sir.

Touch. Give me your hand:—Art thou learned? Will. No, sir.

Touch. Then, learn this of me; To have, is to have: For it is a figure in rhetorick, that drink, being pour'd out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the other: For all your writers do consent, that ipse is he; now you are not ipse, for I am he.

Will. Which he, sir?

Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman: Therefore, you clown, abandon,—which is in the vulgar, leave, the society,—which in the boorisha is, company, of this female,—which in the common is, woman;—which together is, abandon the society of this female; or, clown, thou perishest; or, to thy better understanding, diest; to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death, thy

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