Or else a rude despiser of good manners, Orl. You touch'd my vein at first; the thorny point Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show Jac. An you will not be answered with reason, must die. With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut, Is second childishness, and mere oblivion; I thank you most for him. Duke S. What would you have? Your gentle-Adam. So had you need; ness shall force, More than your force move us to gentleness. Orl. I almost die for food, and let me have it. Duke S. Sit down and feed, and welcome to our table. Orl. Speak you so gently? Pardon me, I pray you: I thought that all things had been savage here; And therefore put I on the countenance Of stern commandment: But whate'er you are, That in this desert inaccessible, Under the shade of melancholy boughs, Lose and neglect the creeping hours of time; If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church; If ever sat at any good man's feast; In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword. days; And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church; Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while, ger, Go find him out, you As yet, to question you about your fortunes:Give us some musick; and, good cousin, sing. Amiens sings. Freeze, freeze, thou bitter sky, As benefits forgot: Duke S. If that you were the good Sir Row land's son, As you have whisper'd faithfully you were; And as mine eye doth his effigies witness Most truly limn'd, and living in your face,Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke, That lov'd your father: The residue of your fortune, Go to my cave and tell me.-Good old man, Duke S. Thou seest, we are not all alone un-Thou art right welcome as thy master is: I will not touch a bit. happy: This wide and universal theatre [Exit. Presents more woful pageants than the scene Jaq. And shining morning face, creeping like snail Even in the cannon's mouth: And then, the justice; In fair round belly, with good capon lin❜d, Support him by the arm.-Give me your hand, And let me all your fortunes understand. ACT III. [Exeunt. SCENE I. A Room in the Palace. Enter Duke Frederick, Oliver, Lords, and Attendants. Duke F. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be: But were I not the better part made mercy, Thy lands, and all things that thou dost call thine, Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love: Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow, again: A more sounder instance, come. Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfumed with civet. Touch. Most shallow man! Thou worms-meat, in respect of a good piece of flesh Indeed!Learn of the wise, and perpend: Civet is of a baser birth than tar; the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd. Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest. Touch. Will thou rest damn'd? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee! thou art raw. Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer; I earn that I And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, sur-man's happiness; glad of other men's good, coneat, get that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no vey With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, Thy huntress' name, that my full life doth sway. Corin. And how like you this shepherd's life, master Touchstone ? Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd ? Cor. No more, but that I know, the more one sickens, the worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money, means, and content, is without three good friends:-That the property of rain is to wet, and fire to burn: That good pasture makes fat sheep; and that a great cause of the night, is lack of the sun: That he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art, may complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred. Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd ? Cor. No, truly. Touch. Then thou art damn'd. Cor. Nay, I hope, Touch. Truly, thou art damn'd; like an illroasted egg, ali on one side. Cor. For not being at court? Your reason. Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never saw'st good manners; if thou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation : Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd. Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone: those, that are good manners at the court, are as ridiculons in the country, as the behaviour of the country is most mockable at the court. You told me, you salute not at the court, but you kiss your hands; that courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds. Touch. Instance, briefly; come, instance. Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, you know, are greasy. Touch. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat and is not the grease of mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow: A better instance, I say come. Cor. Besides, our hands are hard. tent with my harm: and the greatest of my pride Touch. That is another simple sin in you: to is, to see my ewes graze, and my lambs suck. bring the ewes and the rams together, and to tle: to be bawd to a bell wether; and to betray offer to get your living by the copulation of cata she-lamb of a twelvemonth, to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldy ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be'st not damu'd for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst 'scape. Cor. Here comes young master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother. Ros. Enter Rosalind, reading a Paper. Her worth, being mounted on the wind, Touch. I'll rhyme you so, eight years toge. ther; dinners, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted; it is the right butter-woman's rank to market. Ros. Out, fool! Touch. For a taste: If a hart do lack a hind, They that reap, must sheaf and bind; He that sweetest rose will find, Ros. Peace, you dull fool; I found them on a tree. Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. Ros. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit in the country: for you'll be rotten e'er you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar. Touch. You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge. Enter Celia, reading a Paper. Ros. Peace! Here Cel. comes my sister, reading; stand aside. Some, how brief the life of man Runs his erring pilgrimage; That the stretching of a span Some, of violated vows Ros. Is he of God's making? What manner of man? Is his head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard? Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard. Twixt the souls of friend and friend: will be thankful: let me stay the growth of his But upon the fairest boughs, Or at every sentence' end, Will I Rosalinda write; Teaching all that read, to know And I to live and die her slave. beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. Cel. It is young Orlando; that tripp'd up the wrestler's heels, and your heart both in an instant. Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking; speak Cel. Orlando. Ros. Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose -What did he, when theu saw'st him 7 What said he ? How look'd he? Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word. Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's mouth first: 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's size: To say, ay, and no, to these particulars, is more than to answer in a catechism. Ros. But doth he know that I am in this forest, and in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as Ros. O most gentle Jupiter!-what tedious Cel. How now! back friends;-Shepherd, go off a little-Go with nim, sirrah. Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honcurable retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. [Exeunt Corin and Touchstone. Cel. Didst thou hear these verses? Ros. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear. Cel. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses. Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse. Cel. But didst thou hear, without wondering how thy name should be hang'd and carv'd upon these trees? Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder, before you came; for look here what I found on a palm tree: I never was so berhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember. Cel. Trow you, who hath done this ? Ros. Is it a man? Cel. It is as easy to count atomies, as to resolve the propositions of a lover :-but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with a good observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropp'd acorn. Ros. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit. Cel. Give me audience, good madam. Cel. There lay he, stretch'd along, like a wounded knight. Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground. Cel. Cry, holla! to thy tongue, 1 pr'ythee; it curvets very unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter. Ros. O ominous! he comes to kill my heart. Cel. I would sing my song without a burden: thou bring'st me out of tune. Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when Enter Orlando and Jaques. Cel. You bring me out:-Soft! comes he not here ? Ros. "Tis he; slink by, and note him. [Celia and Rosalind retire. Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about Jaq. I thank you for your company; but, good his neck Change you colour? Ros. I pr'ythee, who? Cel. O lord, lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet but mountains may be removed with earthquakes, and so encounter. Ros. Nay, but who is it? faith, I had as lief have been myself alone. Orl And so had I; but yet, for fashion's sake, 1 thank you too for your society. Jaq. God be with you; let's meet as little as we can. Orl. 1 do desire we may be better strangers. Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with peti-writing love-songs in their barks. Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most tionary vehemence, tell me who it is. Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all whooping? Ros. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South-sea of discovery. 1 pr'ythee, tell me, who is it? quickly, and speak apace: I would thou couldst stammer, that thou might'st pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd bottle; either too much at once, or none at all. I pr'ythee take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings. Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses Jaq. I do not like her name. Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you, when she was christen'd. Jaq. What stature is she of? Orl. Just as high as my heart. Jaq. You are full of pretty answers: Have you not been acquainted with goldsmith's wives, and conn'd them out of rings? Orl. No so; but I answer you right paintedcloth, from whence you have studied your ques tionɛ. Jaq. You have a nimble wit: I think it was made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against our mistress the world, and all our misery. Orl. I will chide no breather in the world, but myself; against whom I know most faults. Jaq. The worst fault you have, is to be in love. Ori. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you. Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool, when I found you. Orl. He is drown'd in the brook; look but in, and you shall see him. Jaq. There shall I see mine own figure. Orl. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good monsieur melancholy. [Erit Jaq.-Cel. and Ros. come forward. Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, and under that habit play the knave with him. -Do you hear, forester ? Orl. Very well; what would you? Orl. 1 pr'ythee, recount some of them. Ros. No; I will not cast away my physick, but on those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest that abuses our young plants with. carving Rosalind on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind: if 1 could meet that fancy monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. Orl. I am he that is so loved-shaked; I pray you, tell me your remedy. Ros. 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. Orl. What were his marks? Ros. 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 your hose should be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and every thing about you demonstratRos. Then there is no true lover in the forest;ing a careless desolation. But you are no such else sighing every minute, and groaning every man; you are rather point-device in your achour, would detect the lazy foot of time, as well coutrements; as loving yourself, than seeming as a clock. Orl. You should ask me, what time o' day; there's no clock in the forest. Orl. And why not the swift foot of time? had not that been as proper? Ros. By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces with divers persons: I'll tell you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal. Orl. I pr'ythee, who doth he trot withal? Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, between the contract of her marriage, and the day it is solemnized: if the interim be but a se'nnight, time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven years. Orl. Who ambles time withal? Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man that hath not the gout; for the one sleeps easily, because he cannot study; and the other lives merrily, because he feels no pain: the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning; the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury: These time ambles withal. Orl. Who doth he gallop withal? Ros. With a thief to the gallows: for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there. Orl. Who stays it withal? Ros. With lawyers in the vacation: for they sleep between term and term, and then they perceive not how time moves. the lover of any other. Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love. Ros. 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 sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired? Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak? Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. Ros. Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip, as inadmen do: and the reason why they are not so punished and cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordinary, that the whippers are in love too: Yet I profess curing it by counsel. Orl. Did you ever cure any so? Ros. 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 moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking; proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth? tears, full of smiles; for every passion someRos. With this shepherdess, my sister; here in thing, and for no passion truly any thing, as the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petti-boys and women are for the most part cattle of coat. Orl. Are you native of this place? Ros. As the coney that you see dwells where she is kindled. Orl. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling. this colour: would now like him, now loathe him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; then ĺ 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 Ros. I have been told so of many; but, in-live in a nook merely monastick: And thus 1 deed, an old religious uncle of mine taught me cured him; and this way will I take upon me to speak, who was in his youth an inland man; to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's one that knew courtship too well, for there he heart, that there shall not be one spot of love fell in love. I have heard him read many lec-in't. tures against it; and I thank God, I am not a woman, to be touch'd with so many giddy of fences as he hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal. Orl. Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of women? Ros. There were none principal; they were all like one another, as half-pence are; every one fault seeming monstrous, till his fellow fault came to match it Orl. I would not be cured, youth. Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and come every day to my cote, and woo me. Orl. Now, by the faith of my love, I will: tell me where it is. Ros. Go with me to it, and I'll show it to you: and, by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest you live: ll you go? Orl. With all a. eart, good youth. Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind Come, sister, will you go? [Exeunt. SCENE IIL distance, dbserving them. Jaq. [Discovering himself.] Proceed, proceed; I'll give her. Touch. Good even, good master What ye call't: How do you, sir? You are very well met: Enter Touchstone and Audrey; Jaques at a God'ild you for your last company: I am very glad to see you:-Even a toy in hand here, sir: Touch Come apace, good Audrey; I will-Nay; pray, be cover'd. fetch up your goats, Audrey: And how, Audrey? Jaq. Will you be married, Motley! am I the man yet? Doth my simple feature, Touch. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse content you? his curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath Aud. Your features! Lord warrant us ! what his desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock features ? would be nibbling. [Aside. Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as. Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breedthe most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was ing, be married under a bush, like a beggar? among the Goths. Get you to church, and have a good priest that Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited! worse than can tell you what marriage is: this fellow will Jove in a thatch'd house! but join you together as they join wainscot; then Touch. When a man's verses cannot be un- one of you will prove a shrunk panel, and, like derstood, nor a man's good wit seconded with green timber, warp, warp. 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? 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 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? Touch. No truly, unless thou wert hard favour'd: for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a sauce to sugar. Jaq. A material fool! [Aside. Aud. Well, I am not fair; and therefore 1 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 dish. 1 am foul. Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness! sluttishness 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 promised to meet me in this place of the forest, and to couple us. [Aside. Jaq. 1 would fain see this meeting. Aud. Well, the gods give us joy! Touch. 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 though? 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 so:-Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore blessed? No: as 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, by so much is a horn more precious than to want. Enter Sir Oliver Mar-text. a Here comes Sir Oliver:-Sir Oliver Mar-text, you are well met: Will you despatch us here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel? Touch. I am not in the mind but I were better to be married of him than of another: for he is Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. Not-O sweet Oliver, O brave Oliver, Leave me not behind thee; Begone, I say, I will not to wedding with thee. Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter: ne'er a fantastical [Exeunt Jaq. Touch. and Audrey. knave of them all shall flout me out of my call[Exit. ing. SCENE IV. The same. Before a Cottage. Ros. Never talk to me, I will weep. Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. Cel. Something browner than Judas's: marry, his kisses are Judas's own children. Ros. 1' faith, his hair is of a good colour. Cel. An excellent colour: your chestnut 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. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. Cel. Yes: I think he is not a pick-purse, nor a horse-stealer: but for his verity in love, I do think him 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 downright, he was. 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. Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman? Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much |