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those that are sick. There is a man haunts the Forest, that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on theirbarks; 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.

Orla. I am he, that is so love-shak'd; I pray you tell me your remedy.

Rof. 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.

Orla. What were his marks ?

Rof. 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 in beard is a younger Brother's revenue; then

then your hose

fhould be ungarter'd, your bornet unbanded, your fleeve unbutton'd, your shoe untied, andevery thing about you demonstrating a careless defolation ; but you are no such man, you are rather, point-device in your accoutre. ments, as loving yourself, than secming the lover of

any other.

Orla. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.

Rof. 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 footh, are you he that hangs the Verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired ?

Orla. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am That he, lhat unfortunate he.

Rof. But are you so much in love, as your rhimes speak?

Orla.

Orla. Neither rhime nor reason can express how much.

Rof. Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip, as mad men do: and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordinary, that the whippers are in love too : yet I profess curing it by counsel. Orla. Did you ever cure

any

so ? Rof. 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 moonilh youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking; proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconftant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every paflion something, and for no passion truly anything, as boys and women are for the most part cattle of this colour; would now like him, now loath him; then entertain him, then forswear hinı ; 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 cur'd 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.

Orla. I would not be cur'd, youth.

Rof. I would cure you if you would but call me Rosalind, and come every day to my cotte, and woo

me.

Orla. Now, by the faith of my love, I will; tell me where it is.

Rof. Go with me to it, and I will shew it you ; and, by the way, you shall tell me where in the Forest you live : will you go?

Orla. With all my heart, good youth. Rof. Nay, nay, you must call me Rosalind : come, sifter, will you go?

[Exeunt. SCENE

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S CE N E IX.

Enter Clown, Audrey and Jaques. Clo. OM E apace, good Audrey, I will fetch up

your goats, Audrey; and now, Audrey, am I the man yet? doth my Gmple feature content you ?

Aud. Your features, lord warrant us! what features?

Clo. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet honest Ovid was among the Goths.

Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a thatch'd house!

Clo. 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 poetical.

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

Clo. 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 me poetical?

Clo. I do, truly; for thou swear'st to me, thou art honeft: now if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst feign.

Aud. Would not you have me honest ?

Clo. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd; for honesty coupled to beauty, is, to have honey a sauce to sugar Jag. A material fool!

Aud. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the Gods make me honest !

Clo. Truly, and to caft away honesty upon a foul slut, were to put good meat into an unclean dilh.

Aud. I am not a flut, though I.thank the Gods I ?m foul.

Clo.

Clo. Well, praised be the Gods for thy foulness ! fluttishness

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 promis'd to meet me in this place of the forest and to couple us.

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

Clo. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what tho'? 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 fo-poor men alone ?

-no, no, the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal: is the single man therefore blessed ? no.

As a wall'd town is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor; and by how much defence is better than no skill, so much is a horn more precious to

want.

Enter Sir Oliver Mar-text.

Here comes Sir Oliver : Sir Oliver Mar-text, you are well met.

Will you dispatch us here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel ?

Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman ?
Clo. I will not take her on gift of any man.

Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.

Jaq. Proceed, proceed! I'll give her.

Clo. Good even, good master what ye call: how do you, Sir? you are very well met: God'ild you for your last company! I am very glad to see you; even a toy in hand here, Sir: nay; pray, be covered.

. Vol. III.

D

Jaq.

Jaq. Will you be married, Motley ?

Clo. As the ox hath his bow, Sir, the horse his curb, and the faulcon his bells, so man hath his defire; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nib. ling.

Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a bush like a beggar? get 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 you will prove a shrunk pannel, and, like green timber, warp, warp.

Clo. I am not in the mind, but I were better to be married of him than 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.

Clo. Come, sweet Audrey, we must be married, or we must live in bawdry: farewel, good Sir Oliver ; not O sweet Oliver, O brave Oliver, leave me not behind thee, but wind away, begone, I fay, I will not to wedding with thee.

Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave of them all shall flout me out of my Calling. [Exeunt.

S CE N E X.

SNELDo

, al priythee, but yet have the grace

Changes to a Cottage in the Forest.

Enter Rofalind and Celia.
Rof

TEVER talk to me, I will
CelI pr’ythee; 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. Rof. His very hair is of the diffembling colour.

Cel. Something browner than Judas's: marry his kiffes are Judas's own children.

Rof.

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