The Works of William Shakespeare, Complete

Jaq. More, more, I pr'ythee, more. Ami. It will make you melancholy, monsieur Jaques. Juq. I thank it. More, I pr'ythee, more. I can suck melancholy out of a song, as a weazel sucks eggs: More, I pr'ythee, more. Ami. My voice is ragged; please you.

I know, I cannot Juq. I do not desire you to please me, I do desire you to sing: Come, more; another stanza: Call you them stanzas!

Ami. What you will, monsieur Jaques. Juq. Nay, I care not for their names; they owe me nothing: Will you sing?

Ami. More at your request, than to please myself. Juq. Well then, if ever I thank any man I'll thank you; but that they call compliment, is like the encounter of two dog-apes; and when a man thanks me heartily, methinks, I have given him a penny, and he renders me the beggarly thanks.Come, sing; and you that will not, hold your

tongues.

Ami. Well, I'll end the song.-Sirs, cover the while; the duke will drink under this tree:-he hath been all this day to look you.

Jaq. And I have been all this day to avoid him. He is too disputables for my company: I think of as many matters as he; but I give heaven thanks. and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come.

SONG.

We shall have shortly discord in the spheres:Go, seek him; tell him, I would speak with him. Enter JAQUES.

1 Lord. He saves my labor by his own approach. Duke S. Why, how now, monsieur! what a life is this,

That your poor friends must woo your company? What! you look merrily.

Juq. A fool, a fool!

-I met a fool i' the forest,
A motley fool;-a miserable world!-
As I do live by food, I met a fool;
Who laid him down and bask'd him in the sun,
And rail'd on lady Fortune in good terms,
In good set terms, and yet a motley fool
Good morrow, fool, quoth I: No, sir, quoth ne,
Call me not fool, till heaven hath sent me fortune:
And then he drew a dial from his poke;
And looking on it with lack-lustre eye,
Says, very wisely, It is ten o'clock:
Tis but an hour ago, since it was nine;
Thus may we see, quoth he, how the world wags
And after an hour more, 'twill be eleven;
And so, from hour to hour, we ripe and ripe,
And then from hour to hour, we rot and rot,
And thereby hangs a tale. When I did hear
The motley fool thus moral on the time,
My lungs began to crow like chanticleer,
That fools should be so deep contemplative;
And I did laugh sans intermission,
An hour by his dial.-O noble fool!

Who doth ambition shun, [All together here. A worthy fool! Motley's the only wear.

And loves to live i the sun,

Seeking the food he eats,

And pleas'd with what he gets,

Come hither, come hither, come hither;

Here shall he see

No enemy,

But winter and rough weather.

Jaq. I'll give you a verse to this note, that I made yesterday in despite of my invention. Ami. And I'll sing it.

Juq. Thus it goes:

If it do come to pass,
That any man turn ass,
Leaving his wealth and ease,
A stubborn will to please,
Ducdáme, ducdáme, ducdáme,
Here shall he see
Gross fools as he,

An if he will come to Ami.
Ami. What's that ducdáme?

Jeq. 'Tis a Greek invocation, to call fools into a circle. I'll go sleep if I can; if I cannot, I'll rail against all the first-born of Egypt. Ami. And I'll go seek the duke; his banquet is prepared. [Exeunt severally. SCENE VI.-The same.

Enter ORLANDO and ADAM. Adam. Dear master, I can go no further: 0, I die for food! Here lie I down, and measure out my grave. Farewell, kind master.

Orl. Why, how now, Adam? no greater heart in thee? Live a little; comfort a little; cheer thyself a little: If this uncouth forest yield any thing savage, I will either be food for it, or bring it for food to thee. Thy conceit is nearer death than thy powers. For my sake, be comfortable; hold death awhile at the arm's end: I will here be with thee presently; and if I bring thee not something to eat, I'll give thee leave to die: but if thou diest before I come, thou art a mocker of my labor. Well said! thou look'st cheerly: and I'll be with thee quickly. Yet thou liest in the bleak air: come, I will bear thee to some shelter; and thou shalt not die for lack of a dinner, if there live anything in this desert. Cheerly, good Adam! [Exeunt.

SCENE VII.-The same.

A table set out. Enter DUKE Senior, AMIENS, Lords, and others.

Duke S. I think he be transform'd into a beast; For I can nowhere find him like a man.

1 Lord. My lord, he is but even now gone hence; Here was he merry, hearing of a song. Duke S. If he, compact of jars, grow musical, Ragged and rugged had formerly the same meaning. • Disputatious. Made up of discords.

Duke S. What fool is this?

Jaq. O worthy fool!-One that hath been a

courtier;

And says, if ladies be but young, and fair,
They have the gift to know it: and in his brain,—
Which is as dry as the remainder biscuit

After a voyage,-he hath strange places cramm'd
With observation, the which he vents

In mangled forms:-0, that I were a fool!
I am ambitious for a motley coat.
Duke S. Thou shalt have one.
Jaq.
It is my only suit,
Provided, that you weed your better judgments
Of all opinion that grows rank in them,
That I am wise. I must have liberty
Withal as large a charter as the wind,

To blow on whom I please; for so fools have.
And they that are most galled with my folly,
They most must laugh: And why, sir, must they so?
The why is plain as way to parish church:
He, that a fool doth very wisely hit,
Doth very foolishly, although he smart,
Not to seem senseless of the bob: if not,
The wise man's folly is anatomiz'd
Even by the squand'ring glances of the fool.
Invest me in my motley; give me leave
To speak my mind, and I will through and through
Cleanse the foul body of the infected world,
If they will patiently receive my medicine.
Duke S. Fye on thee! I can tell what thou
wouldst do.

Jaq. What, for a counter, would I do, but good
For thou thyself hast been a libertine,
Duke S. Most mischievous foul sin, in chiding sin
As sensual as the brutish sting itself;
And all the embossed sores, and headed evils
That thou with license of free foot hast caught,
Wouldst thou disgorge into the general world.
That can therein tax any private party?
Juq. Why, who cries out on pride,
Doth it not flow as hugely as the sea,
What woman in the city do I name,
Till that the very, very means do ebb?
When that I say, The city-woman bears
The cost of princes on unworthy shoulders!
Who can come in, and say, that I mean her,
When such a one as she, such is her neighbor?
Or what is he of basest function,
That says, his bravery is not on my cost,
(Thinking that I mean him.) but therein suits
His folly to the mettle of my speech?
There then; How, what then? Let me see wherein
My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right,
Then he hath wrong'd himself; if he be free,
Why then, my taxing like a wild goose flies,
Unclaim'd of any man.-But who comes here?
The tool was anciently dressed in a party-colored coat.
• Finery.

Enter ORLANDO, with his sword drawn.
Orl. Forbear, and eat no more.
Jaq.

Why, I have eat none yet.
Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be serv'd.
Jaq. Of what kind should this cock come of?

And shining morning face, creeping like snail
Unwillingly to school: And then, the lover;
Shining like furnace, with a woeful ballad
Made to his mistress' eyebrow: Then, a soldier;
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the pard,

Duke S. Art thou thus bolden'd man, by thy Jealous in honor, sudden and quick in quarrel,

distress;

Or else a rude despiser of good manners,
That in civility thou seem'st so empty?

Orl. You touch'd my vein at first; the thorny point

Of bare distress hath ta'en from me the show
Of smooth civility: yet am I inland bred,
And know some nurture: But forbear, I say;
He dies, that touches any of this fruit,
Till I and my affairs are answered.

Jag. An you will not be answered with reason,
Duke S. What would you have? Your gen-

I must die.

tleness shall force

More than your force move us to gentleness.

Ort. 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 you have look'd on better days;

If ever been where bells have knoll'd to church;

If ever sat at any good man's feast;

If ever from your eyelids wiped a tear,
And know what 'tis to pity, and be pitied;
Let gentleness my strong enforcement be:

In the which hope, I blush, and hide my sword.
Duke S. True is it that we have seen better days,
And have with holy bell been knoll'd to church;
And sat at good man's feast; and wiped our eyes
Of drops that sacred pity hath engender'd:
And therefore sit you down in gentleness,
And take upon command what help we have,
That to your wanting may be minister'd.

Orl. Then, but forbear your food a little while,
Whiles, like a doe, I go to find my fawn,
And give it food. There is an old poor man,
Who after me hath many a weary step
Limp'd in pure love; till he be first sufficed,-
Oppress'd with two weak evils, age and hunger,-
I will not touch a bit.

Duke S.

Go find him out,

Seeking the bubble reputation

Even in the cannon's mouth: And then, the justice;
In fair round belly, with good capon lin❜d,
With eyes severe, and beard of formal cut,
Full of wise saws and modern instances,
And so he plays his part: The sixth age shifts
Into the lean and slipper'd pantaloon;

With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side;
His youthful hose well sav'd, a world too wide
For his shrunk shank; and his big manly voice,
And whistles in his sound: Last scene of all
Turning again toward childish treble, pipes
That ends this strange eventful history,

Is second childishness, and mere oblivion;
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans every thing.
Re-enter ORLANDO, with ADAM.

Duke S. Welcome: set down your venerable burden, And let him feed.

Orl.

I thank you most for him.
Adam. So had you need;

I scarce can speak to thank you for myself.
Duke S. Welcome, fall to: I will not trouble you
As yet, to question you about your fortunes:-
Give us some music; and, good cousin, sing.

ACT III.

SCENE I-A Room in the Palace.

Till thou canst quit thee by thy brother's mouth,

Enter DUKE FREDERICK, OLIVER, Lords, and of what we think against thee.

Attendants.

Oli. O, that your highness knew my heart in this!
I never lov'd my brother in my life.
Duke F. More villain thou.-Well, push him
out of doors;

And let my officers of such a nature
Make an extents upon his house and lands:
Do this expediently,' and turn him going. [Exeunt.
SCENE II.-The Forest.
Enter ORLANDO, with a paper.

Orl. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love:

And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey
With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above
Thy huntress name, that my full life doth sway.
O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books,

And in their barks my thoughts I'll character;
That every eye, which in this forest looks,
Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where.
Run, run, Orlando; curve, on every tree.
The fair, the chaste, and unexpressives she. [Exit.
Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE.

Cor. 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 humor 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,

Cor. Here comes young master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.

Enter ROSALIND, reading a paper.
Ros. From the east to western Ind,
No jewel is like Rosalind;

Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
Through all the world bears Rosalind;
All the pictures, fairest lin’d,
Are but black to Rosalind.

Let no face be kept in mind,
But the fairs of Rosalind.

Touch. I'll rhyme you so, eight years together:
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 heart do lack a hind,
Let him seek out Rosalind.
If the cat will after kind,
So, be sure, will Rosalind.
Winter-garments must be lin❜d,
So must slender Rosalind.
They that reap must sheaf and bind;
Then to cart with Rosalind.
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
Such a nut is Rosalind.

He that sweetest rose will find,

Must find love's prick, and Rosalind. This is the very false gallop of verses; Why do you infect yourself with them?

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 mediar: then it will be the earliest fruit in the country: for you'll be rotten ere you be half

Touch. Truly, thou art damn'd; like an ill- ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar. roasted egg, all 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 ridiculous in the country, as the behavior 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 a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow: A better instance, I say; come.

Cor. Besides, our hands are hard.

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 prepend: 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. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee! thou art raw.

Cor. Sir, I am a true laborer; I earn that I eat, get that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness; glad of other men's good, content with my harm: and the greatest of my pride is, to see my ewes graze, and my lambs suck.

Touch. That is another simple sin in you; to bring the ewes and the rams together, and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle: to be bawd to a bell-wether; and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth, to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be st not damn'd for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst 'scape.

Touch. You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge.

Enter CELIA, reading a paper.

Ros. Peace!

Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside.
Cel. Why should this desert silent be?
For it is unpeopled? No;
Tongues I'll hang on every tree,
That shall civil saying show
Some, how brief the life of man!
Runs his erring pilgrimage;
That the stretching of a span
Buckles in his sum of age.
Some, of violated vows

Twixt the souls of friend and friend:
But upon the fairest boughs

Or at every sentence' end,

Will 1 Rosalinda write;

Teaching all that read, to know
The quintessence of every sprite
Heaven would in little show.
Therefore heaven and nature charg'd
That one body should be fill'd
With all graces wide enlarg'd:
Nature presently distill d
Helen's cheek, but not her heart;
Cleopatra's majesty;
Atalanta's better part;

Sud Lucretia's modesty.
Thus Rosalind of many parts

By heavenly synod was devis'd;

Of many faces, eyes, and hearts,

To have the touches dearest priz'd. Heaven would that she these gifts should have And I to live and die her slave.

Ros. O most gentle Jupiter! what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cry d. Have patience, good people!

Cel. How now! back friends;-Shepherd, go off a little-Go with him, sirrah.

Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honorable 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.

Complexion, beauty.

• Delineated.
Grave, solemn.

1 Features.

Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES.

Cel. That's no matter; the feet might bear the

verses.

Ros. Ay, but the fee 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 carved 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 was never so be-rhymed 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?

Ros. 'Tis he; slink by, and note him.

[CELIA and ROSALIND retire. Jaq. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone.

Orl. And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too for your society.

Jaq. God be with you; let's meet as little as we can.

Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers. Jaq. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love-songs in their barks.

Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with

Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his reading them ill-favoredly. neck: Change you color?

Ros. 1 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?

Cel. Is it possible?

Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most petitionary 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-off discovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, who is it? quickly, and speak apace: I would thou couldst staminer, that thou mightest pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of 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. 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. Ros. Why, God will send more, if the man will be thankful: let me stay the growth of his 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 sad brow, and true maid."

Cel. I' faith, coz, 'tis he. Ros. Orlando?

Cel. Orlando.

Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name?

Orl. Yes, just.

Jaq. I do not like her name.

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

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. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your questions.

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. Orl. '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. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cipher.

Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good signior love.

Orl. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good monsieur melancholy.

[Exit JAQUES.-CELIA and ROSALIND come forward.

Ros. Alas the day. what shall I do with my Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, doublet and hose?-What did he, when thou saw stand under that habit play the knave with him.

him? 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 he did the day he wrestled?

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 called Jove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit.

Cel. Give me audience, good madam.
Ros. Proceed.

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, I 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.

Do you hear, forester

Orl. Very well; what would you?
Ros. I pray you, what is't o'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 ambels withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.

Orl. I prythee, who doth he trot withal? between the contract of her marriage, and the day Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, 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 Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when I go as softly as a foot can fall, he thinks himself too think, I must speak. Sweet, say on.

soon there.

An allusion to the moral sentences issuing from the mouths of figures on old tapestry hangings.

Orl. Who stays it still 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. Are you a native of this place?

Ros. As the coney, that you see dwell where she is kindled.

Ort. 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 1 thank God, I am not a woman, to be touch'd with so many giddy offences 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 seeining monstrous, till his fellow fault came to match it.

Orl. I pr'ythee recount 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 fancymonger, 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-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 demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man; you are rather point-device in your accoutrements; as loving yourself, than sceming the lover of any other.

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

that

Ros. Me believe it? you may as soon make her 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 mad-men do and the reason why they are not so punished and cured, is that the lunacy is so ordinary, 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, change able, 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 color; would now like him, now loath him; then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep for him, then laugh at him, that I drave my suitor from his mad humor of love, to a living humor of madness: which was, to forswear the full A spirit averse to conversation. • Estate.

SCENE III.-The same.

Enter 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 !2 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 swearest 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-favor'd: for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a sauce to sugar.

Jaq. A material fool. [Aside. Aut. Well I am not fair, and therefore I 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. Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.

Touch. Well praised be the gods for thy foulness! sluttishness may come hereafter. But be 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. I 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 hornbeasts. 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 honorable than the bare brow of a bachelor; and by how much defences is better than no skill, by so much is a horn more precious than 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? 2 Ill-lodged. • Homely.

The art of fencing.

A fool with matter in him.
Lean deer are called rascal deer,

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