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Clo. That is another fimple fin in you, to bring the ewes and the rams together, and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle; to be a bawd to a bell-weather, and to betray a fhe-lamb of a twelvemonth old to a crookedpated old cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be'ft not damn'd for this, the devil himself will have no fhepherds; I cannot fee elfe how thou fhould'ft 'scape. Cor. Here comes young Mr. Ganimed, my new mistress's brother.


Enter Rofalind with a paper.

Rof. From the east to the western Inde,
No jewel is like Rofalind.

Her worth being mounted on the wind,
Through all the world bears Rofalind
All the pictures faireft lin'd,

Are but black to Rofalind

Let no face be kept in mind,

But the face of Rofalind.

Clo. I'll rhime you fo eight years together; dinners, and fuppers, and fleeping hours excepted: it is the right butterwomen's rate to market.

Ref. Out, fool!

Clo. For a tafte.

If a bart doth lack a bind,
Let bim feck out Rofalind.
If the cat will after kind,
So be fare will Rofalind.
Winter garments must be lin'd,
So mußt fender Rolalind.
They that reap must beaf and bind,
Then to cart with Rofalind.
Sweeteft nut bath forest rind,
Such a nut is Rofalind.

He that fweeteft rofe will find,

Muft find love's prick, and Rofalind.

This is the very falfe gallop of verfes; why do you infect your felf with them?

Rof. Peace, you dull fool, I found them on a tree.
Clo. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

Rof. I'll graff it with you, and then I fhall graff it with

a medler; then it will be the earlieft fruit i' th' country; for you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medler.

Clo. You have faid; but whether wifely or no, let the forest judge.

SCENE V. Enter Celia with a writing.

Rof. Peace, here comes my fifter reading, ftand afide. Cel. Why fhould this a defart be?

For it is unpeopled. No;

Tongues I'll bang on every tree,
That fhall civil fayings show.
Some, how brief the life of man
Runs bis erring pilgrimage,

That the ftretching of a Span

Buckles in bis fum of age;

Some of violated vows,

Twixt the fouls of friend and friend 3

But upon the fairest boughs,

Or at every fentence end,

Will I Rofalinda write;

Teaching all that read to know
This quintessence of every sprite,
Heaven would in little pow.
Therefore beaven nature charg'd,
That one body fhould be fill'd
With all graces wide enlarg'd;
Nature prefently diftill'd
Helen's cheeks, but not her beart,
Cleopatra's majefty;

Atalanta's better part,

Sad Lucretia's modefty.

Tous Rofalind of many parts

By beav'nly fynod was devis'd,

Of many faces, eyes and bearts,

To have the touches deareft prix'd.

Heav'n would that fhe thefe gifts fhould bavez

And I to live and die ber flave.

Ref. O moft gentle Jupiter! what tedious homily of

love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cry'd, have patience, good people?

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Cel. How now, back-friends! fhepherd, go off a little : go with him, firrah,

Clo. Come, fhepherd, let us make an honourable retreat, tho' not with bag and baggage, yet with fcrip and fcrippage. [Exe, Cor, and Clown.


Cel. Didft thou hear these verses?

Rof. O yes, I heard them all, and more too; for fome of them had in them more feet than the verfes would bear. Cel. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses. Rof. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the verfe, and therefore ftood lamely in the verse.

Cel. But didft thou hear without wondring, how thy name should be hang'd and carv'd upon these trees?

Rof. I was feven of the nine days out of wonder, before you came for look here what I found on a palm-tree: I was never fo be-rhimed fince Pythagoras's time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember.

Cel. Trow you who hath done this?

Rof. Is it a man?

Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck : Change you colour?

Rof. 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 fo encounter.

Rof. Nay, but who is it?

Cel. Is it poffible?

Rof. Nay, I pr'ythee 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 hooping

Rof. Odd's, my complexion! doft thou think, though I am caparifon'd like a man, I have a doublet and a hofe in my difpofition? one inch of delay more is a fouth-fea off difcovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, who is it? quickly, and fpeak apace; I would thou could'ft ftammer, that thou might'ft pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as

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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.

Rof. 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.

Rof. Why, God will fend more, if the man will be thankful; let me ftay 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 wreftler's heels and your heart both in an inftant.

Rof. Nay, but the devil take mocking; speak, fad brow, and true maid.

Cel. I'faith, coz, 'tis he.

Rof. Orlando!

Cel. Orlando.

Rof. Alas the day, what fhall I do with my doublet and hofe? what did he, when thou faw'ft him? what said he? how look'd he? wherein went he? what makes him here? did he afk 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 firft; 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's fize: to. fay ay and no to these particulars is more than to answer in a catechifm.

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Rof. But doth he know that I am in this foreft, and in man's apparel? looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled?

Cel. It is as eafie to count atoms as to refolve the propofitions of a lover: but take a tafte of my finding him, and relish it with good obfervance. I found him under an oak-. tree like a dropp'd acorn.

Rof. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops forth fuch fruit.

Cel. Give me audience, good Madam,

Rof. Proceed.

Cel. There lay be ftretch'd along like a wounded Knight. Rof. Tho' it be pity to fee fuch a fight, it well becomes the ground.


Cel, Cry holla to thy tongue, I pr'ythee; it curvets unfeasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter. Rof. O ominous, he comes to kill my heart.

Cel. I would fing my fong without a burthen; thou bring'ft me out of tune.

Rof. Do you not know I am a woman? what I think I muft fpeak: fweet, fay on.

SCENE VII. Enter Orlando and Jaques. Cel. You bring me out. Soft, comes he not here? Rof. 'Tis he; flink by, and note him.

Jaq. I thank you for your company; but good faith, I had as lief have been my felf alone.

Orla. And fo had I; but yet for fashion fake, I thank you too for your fociety.

Jaq. God b'w' you, let's meet as little as we can.
Orla. I do defire we may be better ftrangers.

Jaq. I pray you, marr no more trees with writing lovefongs in their barks.

Orla. I pray you, marr no more of my verfes with reading them ill-favouredly.

Jaq. Rofalind is

Orla. Yes, juft.

your love's name.

Jaq. I do not like her name.

Orla. There was no thought of pleafing you when the was chriften'd,

Jaq. What ftature is the of?

Orla. Juft as high as my heart.

Jaq. You are full of pretty anfwers; have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths wives, and conn'd them out of rings?

Orla. Not fo: but I answer you right in the ftile of the painted cloth, from whence you have ftudied your queftions. Jaq. You have a nimble wit; I think it was made of Atalanta's heels. Will you fit down with me, and we two will rail against our miftrefs, the world, and all our mifery. Orla. I will chide no breather in the world but my self, against whom I know no faults.

Jaq. The worst fault you have, is to be in love.

Orla. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue; I am weary of you,

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