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AS YOU LIKE IT. dead than a great reckoning in a little room :-Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical.

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. Do you wish then, that the gods had made

Touch. No truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd:

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 thou didst feign.

Aud. Would you not have me honest? for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a sauce to sugar.

Jaq. A material fool !

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 disli.

[ Aside.

am foult.

Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I
Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foul-

- as it may be, I will marry thee: and to that end I

uess! sluttishness may conie hereafter. But be it
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 uś.

Jaq. I would fain see this meeting.
Aud. Well, the gods give us joy!

(Aside.

ful heart, stagger in this attempt; for here we have

Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fear. no teniple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what though? Courage ! As horns are odious,

Homely.

A fool with matter in him.

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Dach. No, truly; for the truest proti
Aasiraiy; adlorer regianney
Whyre ia poetry, mir be sait, sold

Jud. Do you wish theo, that the grade help

Thuck 7 da, troly: for thou swearst timp art hat, soe, it thou vert a poet, land

ad. Well, I DOC fair; and the bar

Tuch. Truly, and to cast away banyo
false, were to put good weat in a
Hud. I am not a slut, though I thank they all
Touch. Well, praised be the gods for the te

1 slottishness may cogie hereafter, Barn
it may be, I will marry thee; and to
ve been with Sir Oliver Mar-tert the man
axt village; who bath promised to meet

ace of the forest, aod to couple us. Jag. I would fain see this meeting. Aud. Well, the gods give us joy!

nouch. Amen. A man way, if he wedd eurple but the wood, no assemblr buthart heurt, stagger in this attempt, for heal what thoughl Courage! As harne una

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you to church, and have a good priest that can tell you what marriage is : this fellow will but join you together as they join wainscot; then one of will

prove a shrunk pannel, and, like green timber, warp, warp.

Touch. 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 excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife.

Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.

Touch. Come, sweet Audrey;
We must be married, or we must live in bawdry,
Farewell, good master Oliver!

Not- sweet Oliver,

O brave Oliver,
Leave me not behi' thee;

But-Wind away,

Begone, I say,
I will not to wedding wi' thee.

[Exeunt Jaq. Touch. and Audrey. Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave of them all shall fout me out of my calling. (Esit.

SCENE IV.

The same. Before a Cottage.

Enter Rosalind and Celia.

Ros. Never talk to me, I will weep.

Cel. Do, I pr’ythee; but yet have the grace to consider, that lears do not become a man.

Ros. But have I not cause to weep?
Cel. As good cause as one would desire; there-

Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour, kisses are Judas's own children,

Cel. Something browner than Judas's: marry, bis

fore weep:

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AS YOU LIKE IT you to check, and have a good priest bien pour Je what nurriage is : this fellow vill be 2 tl prune a abruzk panzel, and, like pruz s

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Ros. l'faith, lis hair is of a good colour.

Cel. An excellent colour: your chesnut was ever the only colour.

Ros, And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread.

Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.

Ros. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not?

Cel. Näy certaiuly, there is no truth iu him.
Kos. Do you think so?

Cel. Yes: I think he is not a pick-purse, nor a horse-stealer; but for his verity in love, I do think bim as concave as a cover'd goblet, or a worm-eaten nut.

Ros. Not true in love?
Cel. Yes, when he is in; but, I think he is not in.
Ros. You have heard him swear dowuright, he

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Cel. 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 on 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 laugh'd, and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando?

Cel. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks tisem bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lovert: as a puny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose : but all's brave, that youth mounts, and folly guides Who comes here?

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His very hair is of the dissembling clear Something browner than Judas's,

ke Judas's owo children,

Cel.

Enter Corin. Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft enquired After the shepherd that complain'd of love; Who you saw sitting by me on the turf, Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess That was his mistress.

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, you

will mark it.
Ros.

0, come, let us remore;
The sight of lovers feedeth those in love:-
Bring us unto this sight, and you
I'll

prove a busy actor in their play.

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shall say

(Excunt.

SCENE V.

Another part of the Forest.

Enter Silvius and Phebe.

Sil. Sweet Pbebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe:
Say, that you love me not; but say pot so
In bitterness: The common executioner,
Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes

hard,
Falls not the axe upon the humble neck,
But first begs pardon ; Will you sterner be
Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops ?

Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin, at a distance.

Phe. I would not be thy executioner; I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.

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