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Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas juft the difference

Betwixt the confeant red and mingled damask.
There be fome women, Silvius, had they mark'd him
In parcels as I did, would have gone near
To fall in love with him; but, for my part,
I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet
I have more caufe to hate him than to love him;
For what had he to do to chide at me ?

He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black:
And, now I am remembred, scorn'd at me;

I marvel, why I anfwer'd not again;

But that's all one; omittance is no quittance.
I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
And thou shalt bear it; wilt thou Silvius?
Sil. Phebe, with all my heart.

Phe. I'll write it ftraight;

The matter's in my head, and in my heart,
I will be bitter with him, and paffing short:
Go with me, Silvius.

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[Exeunt.

A CT IV. SCENE I.

Continues in the FOREST.

Enter Rofalind, Celia, and Jaques.

JAQUES.

Pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted

with thee.

Rof. They fay, you are a melancholy fellow..

Jaq. I am fo; I do love it better than laughing. Rof. Thofe, that are in extremity of either, are abominable fellows; and betray themselves to every modern cenfure, worse than drunkards.

Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be fad, and say nothing.

Rof.

Rof. Why then, 'tis good to be a post.

Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantaftical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the foldier's, which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all thefe; but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many fimples, extracted from many objects, and, indeed, the fundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humourous sadness.

Rof. A traveller! by my faith, you have great reafon to be fad: I fear, you have fold your own lands to fee other men's; then, to have feen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands. Jaq. Yes, I have gain'd me experience.

Enter Orlando.

Rof. And your experience makes you fad: I had rather have a fool to make me merry, than experience to make me fad, and to travel for it too.

Orla. Good day and happiness, dear Rofalind! Jaq. Nay, then God b'w'y you, an you talk in blank verfe.

Rof. FAR

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[Exit.

AREWEL, monfieur traveller; look, you lifp, and wear strange fuits; difable all the benefits of your own Country; be out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I will scarce think, you have swam in a Gondola. Why, how now, Orlando, where have you been all this while? You a lover? an you serve me fuch another trick, never come my fight more.

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Orla. My fair Rofalind, I come within an hour of my promise.

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Rof,

Rof. Break an hour's promife in love! he that will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be faid [of him, that Cupid hath clapt him o'th' fhoulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole.

Orla. Pardon me, dear Rofalind.

Rof. Nay, an you be fo tardy, come no more in my fight: I had as lief be woo'd of a snail.

Orla. Of a fnail?

Rof. Ay, of a fnail; for tho' he comes flowly, he carries his house on his head: a better jointure, I think, than you make a-woman; besides, he brings his deftiny with him.

Orla. What's that?

Rof. Why, horns; which fuch as you are fain to be beholden to your wives for; but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the flander of his wife. Orla. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.

Rof. And I am your Rofalind.

Cel. It pleafes him to call you fo; but he hath a Rofalind of a better leer than you.

Rof. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour, and like enough to confent: what would you say to me now, an I were your very, very Rofalind?

Órla. I would kiss, before I spoke.

Rof. Nay, you were better fpeak firft, and when you were gravell'd for lack of matter, you might take occafion to kifs. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers lacking, God warn us, matter, the cleanlieft fhift is to kifs.

Orla. How if the kifs be denied?

Rof. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there be gins new matter.

Orla. Who could be out, being before his beloved miftrefs?

Rof.

Rof. Marry, that fhould you, if I were your miftrefs; or I fhould think my honefty ranker than my wit.

Orla. What, of my fuit?

Rof. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your fuit. Am not I your Rofalind?

Orla. I take fome joy to say, you are; because I would be talking of her.

Rof. Well, in her perfon, I say, I will not have you. Orla. Then in mine own person I die.

Rof. No, faith, die by attorney; the poor world is almoft fix thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-caufe: Troilus had his brains dash'd 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 liv'd many a fair year, tho' Hero had turn'd nun, if it had not been for a hot midfummer night; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash in the Hellefpont, and, being taken with the cramp, was drown'd; and the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was,-Hero of Seftos. But these are all lies; men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.

Orla. I would not have my right Rofalind of this mind; for I proteft, her frown might kill me.

Rof. By this hand, it will not kill a fly; but come; now I will be your Rofalind in a more coming-on difpofition; and afk me what you will, I will grant it. Orla. Then love me, Rofalind.

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Rof. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays, and all.

Orla. And wilt thou have me?

Rof. Ay, and twenty fuch.

Orla. What fay'ft thou?

Rof. Are you not good?

Orla. I hope fo.

Rof. Why then, can one defire too much of a good

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thing? come, fifter, you fhall be the priest, and

marry us.

Give me your hand, Orlando: what do

you fay, Sifter?

Orla. Pray thee, marry us.

Cel. I cannot fay the words.

Rof. You must begin,-Will you, OrlandoCel. Go to; will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rofalind?

Orla. I will.

Rof. Ay, but when?

Orla. Why now, as faft as she can marry us.

Rof. Then you must fay, I take thee Rofalind for wife.

Orla. I take thee Rofalind for wife.

Rof. I might afk you for your commiffion, but I do take thee Orlando for my husband: there's a girl goes before the priest, and certainly a woman's thought runs before her actions.

Orla. So do all thoughts; they are wing'd.

Rof. Now tell me, how long would you have her, after you have poffeft her.

Orla. For ever and a day.

Rof. Say a day, without the ever: no, no, Orlando, men are April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the fky changes when they are wives; 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 defires than a monkey; I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain; and I will do that, when you are difpos'd to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, * and that when you are inclin'd to weep.

Orla. But will my Rofalind do fo?

Rof. By my life, fhe will do as I do.
Orla. O, but he is wife.

★ and that when you are inclin'd to sleep.] We should read, to weep.

Rof.

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