Jaques. Rosalind is your love's name?

Orl. Yes, just.

Jaques. I do not like her name.

Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you, when she was christened.

Jaques. What stature is she of?

Orl. Just as high as my heart.

Jaques. You are full of pretty answers: Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conned them out of rings?-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.

Jaques. The worst fault you have is, to be in love. Orl. 'Tis a fault I would not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you.

Jaques. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool, when I found you.

Orl. He is drowned in the brook; look but in, and you shall see him.

Jaques. There I shall see mine own figure. Orl. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cypher. Jaques. I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good signior love!

[Exit. Orl. I'm glad of your departure: adieu, good monsieur melancholy!

[CELIA and ROSALIND 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?

Ros. I pray you, what is't a clock ?

Orl. You should ask me, what time o'day; there's no clock in the forest.

Ros. Then there is no true lover in the forest; else sighing every minute, and groaning every hour, would detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock.

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, whom doth he trot withal?

Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, be tween the contract of her marriage, and the day it is solemnized if the interim be but a se'ennight, 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. These time ambles withal. Orl. Whom 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.

Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth?

Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister; here, in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.

Orl. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling.

Ros. I have been told so of many: but, indeed, an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was, in his youth, an inland man; one, that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it; and I thank Heaven, I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy offences, as he hath generally taxed their whole sex withal.

Orl. Can you remember any of the principal evils, that he laid to the charge of women?

Ros. They were none principal; they were all like one another, as halfpence are: every one fault seeming monstrous, till his fellow fault came to match it. Orl. I pr'ythee, recount some of them.

Ros. No; I will not cast away my physic, 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 I 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 love-shak'd; 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 ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and every thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man; you are rather point-device in your accoutrements; as loving yourself, than seeming 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 rhimes speak?

Orl. Neither rhime 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 madmen 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 tears-full of smiles; for every passion, something, and for no passion, truly, any thing, 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 him; 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 cured 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.

Orl. I would not be cured, youth.

Res. 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 will show it you: and, by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest you live: Will you go?

Orl. With all my heart, good youth.

Ros. Nay, nay, you must call me Rosalind: Come, sister, will you go

Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY.

[Exeunt.

Touch. Come apace, good Audrey; I will fetch up your goats, Audrey: And how, Audrey? Am I the man yet? doth my simple feature content you?

Aud. Your features? Lord warrant us! what features?

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

Touch. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning; and lovers a e given to poetry; and, what they swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers, they do feign.

Aud. And 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-favoured: for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a sauce to sugar,