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 clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't. 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. Ort. Now, by the faith of my love, I will; tell me where it is. Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut, were to put good meat into an unclean dish. Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.* Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foul ness! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will marry thee: and t that end, I have been with Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar of the next village; who hath promised to meet me in this place of the forest, and to couple us. [Aside. Jaq. I would fain see this meeting. 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 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 bach Ros. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you:elor: and by how much detence; is better than 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, you must call me Rosalind:Come, sister, will you go? SCENE III. [Exeunt. Exter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES at a distance, observing them. 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. Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited! worse than Jove in a thatch'd house! Aside. Touch. 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 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 fayour'd: 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! [Aside. + Ill-lodged. no skill, by so much is a horn more precious than to want. Enter Sir OLIVER MARTEXT. Here comes Sir Oliver :-Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met: Will you despatch us here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel? Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman? Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful. 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: God'ild you for your last company: I am very glad to see you:-Even a toy in hand here, Sir:-Nay; pray, be cover'd. Jaq. Will you be married, motley? Touch. As the ox hath his bow, Sir, the horse his curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling. 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 wainscoat; then one of you 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. [Aside. 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-O sweet Oliver, O brave Oliver, * Homely. + Lean deer are called rascal deer. The art of fencing. God reward you. t Yoke 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 anave of them all shall flout me out of my calling. [Exit. 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 tears do not become a man. Ros. But have I not cause to weep? Cel. As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep. Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling col our. Cel. Something browner than Judas': marry, his kisses are Judas' own children. Ros. I'faith, his 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. Nay certainly, there is no truth in him. Ros. 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 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 over 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 as he; so he laugh'd, and let me go. But what parentage I was: I told him, of as good 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 them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover it 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? 219 Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you, If you will mark it. Ros. O, come, let us remove; Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Say, that you love me not; but say not so Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck, Phe. I would not be thy executioner; kill thee; thee: Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remains Sil. O dear Phebe, Then shall you know the wounds invisible. comes, Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not; Ros. And why, I pray you? [Advancing.] Who her, * Love. Lake foggy south, puffing with wind and rain? I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo. Ros. He's fallen in love with her foulness, and she'll fall in love with my anger: If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words.-Why look you so upon me? Phe. For no ill will I bear you. Ros. pray you, do not fall in love with me, For I am falser than vows made in wine: Besides, I like you not: If you will know my house, 'Tis at the tuft of olives, here hard by :- [Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA, und Co2IN. Phe. Dead shepherd! now I find thy saw of might; Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight? Phe. Ha! what say'st thou, Silvius? Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me. Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius. Sil. Wherever sorrow is, relief would be; If you do sorrow at my grief in love, By giving love, your sorrow and my grief Were both extermin'd. Phe. Thou hast my love; Is not that neighbourly? Sil. I would have you. Phe. Why, that were covetousness. Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee; And yet it is not, that I bear thee love: But since that thou canst talk of love so well, Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, I will endure; and I'll employ thee too: But do not look for further recompense, Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my love, And I in such a poverty of grace, That I shall think it a most plenteous crop To glean the broken ears after the man That the main harvest reaps: loose now and A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon. [then Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me ere while? Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft; And he hath bought the cottage, and the bounds, That the old carlot* once was master of. Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him; "Tis but a peevish + boy:-yet he talks well; But what care I for words? yet words do well, When he that speaks them pleases those that hear It is a pretty youth :-not very pretty : But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride be- Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask him In parcels as I did, would have gone near And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me: The matter's in my head, and in my heart: ACT IV. SCENE 1.-The same. Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES. Jaq. I pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee." Ros. They say, you are a melancholy fellow. Jaq. I am so; I do love it better than laughing. Ros. Those, that are in extremity of either, are abominable fellows; and betray themselves to every modern censure, worse than drunkards. Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. Ros. 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 fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier'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 these: but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects: and, indeed, the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me, is a most humorous sad ness. Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear, you have sold your own lands, to see other men's; then, to have seen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands. Juq. Yes, I have gained my experience. Enter ORLANDO. Ros. And your experience makes you sad: 1 had rather have a fool to make me merry, than experience to make me sad; and to travel for it too. Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind! Jaq. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. [Exit. and the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was-Hero of Sestos. But these are all lies; men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love. Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller: Look, | being taken with the cramp, was drowned, you lisp, and wear strange suits; disable* 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 such another trick, never come in my sight more. Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise. Ros. Break an hour's promise 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 said of him, that Cupid hath clapped him o' the shoulder, but I warrant him heart-whole. Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind. Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more ta my sight; I had as lief be wooed of a snail. Orl. Of a snail? Ros. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than you can make a woman: Besides, he brings his destiny with him. Orl. What's that? Ros. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to be beholden to your wives for: but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife. Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous. Ros. And I am your Rosalind. Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leert than you. Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind; for, I protest, her frown might kill me. Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly: But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition; and ask me what you will, I will grant it. Orl. Then love me, Rosalind. Ros. Yes, faith will I, Fridays, and Saturdays, and all. Orl. And wilt thou have me? Ros. Ay, and twenty such. Ros. Why then, can one desire too much of Will you, Orlando,— -Will you, Orlando, have to Cel. Go to:- Ros. Ay, but when? Orl. Why now; as fast as she can marry us. Ros. Then you must say,-I take thee, Rosa. lind, for wife. Ort. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife. Ros. I might ask you for your commission; but,-I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband: There a girl goes before the priest; and, certainly, a woman's thought runs before her Ros. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour, and like enough to consent: What would you say to me now, an Iactions. were your very very Rosalind? Orl. I would kiss, before I spoke. Ros. Nay, you were better speak first; and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers, lacking (God warn us!) matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. Orl. How if the kiss be denied? Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter. Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress? Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress; or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit. Orl. What, of my suit? Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind? Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her. Ros. Well, in her person, I say-I will not have you. Orl. Then, in mine own person, I die. Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed 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 lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night: for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and, Orl. So do all thoughts; they are winged. Ros. Now tell me, how long you would have her, after you have possessed her. Orl. For ever, and a day. Ros. 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 sky 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 newfangled than an ape; more giddy in my desires than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep. Orl. But will my Rosalind do so? Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the wiser, the waywarder: Make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole: stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney. Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say,-Wit, whither wilt? Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. Örl. And what wit could wit have to exeuse that? Ros. Marry, to say,-she came to seek you there. You shall never take her without her * Bar the doors. answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool. Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner; by two o'clock I will be with thee again. Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways;-I knew what you would prove; my friends told me as much, and I thought no less-that flattering tongue of yours won me:-'tis but one cast away, and so,-come, death.-Two o'clock is your hour? Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind. Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise, or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical breakpromise, and the most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful: therefore beware my censure, and keep your promise. Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind: So, adieu. Ros. Well, time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let time try: Adieu! [Exit ORLANDO. Cel. You have simply misused our sex in your love-prate: we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest. Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded; my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal. Cel. Or rather bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out. Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought,* conceived of spleen, and born of madness; that blind rascally boy, that abuses every one's eyes, because his own are out, let him be judge, how deep I am in love :-I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando: I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come. Cel. And I'll sleep. [Exeunt. Take thou no scorn, to wear the horn;) It was a crest ere thou wast born; The rest shall bear den 1. Thy father's father wore it; this buz 2. And thy father bore it : All. The horn, the horn, the lusty horn, Is not a thing to laugh to scorn. [Exeunt. SCENE III.-The Forest. Enter ROSALIND and CELIA. Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two o'clock? and here much Orlando! Cel. I warrant you, with pure love, and troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and is gone forth-to sleep: Look, who comes here. Enter SILVIUS. [Giving a letter. Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth;- Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter, love me She says, I am not fair; that I lack manners; Phebe did write it." And turn'd into the extremity of love. hands; She has a huswife's hand: but that's no matter: Sil. Sure, it is hers. Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and cruel style, A style for challengers; why, she defies me, Like Turk to Christian: woman's gentle brain Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention, Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect Than in their countenance :-Will you hear the letter? Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. Ros. She Phebes me: Mark how the tyrant writes. [Reads. Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, Warr'st thou with a woman's heart? Did you ever hear such railing? Whiles the eye of man did woo me, Meaning me a beast.- If the scorn of your bright eynet * Mischief. |