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

Rof. Out, fool!

Clo. For a taste :

If a bart doth lack a bind,
Let him feek out Rofalind.
If the cat will after kind,
So, be fure, will Rofalind.
Winter garments must be lin'd,
So muft flender Rofalind.
They that reap muft fheaf and bind;
Then to cart with Rofalind.
Sweetest nut bath foureft rind;
Such a nut is Rofalind.

He that fweeteft rofe will find,

Muft find love's prick, and Rofalind.

This is the very false gallop of verses; why do you infect yourself

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 earliest 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.

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Ros. Peace! here comes my sister, reading; stand aside.

Cel. Why should this a defert be?
For it is unpeopled. No;
Tongues I'll hang on every tree,
That shall civil fayings show.


Some, how brief the life of man

Runs his 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;
But upon the fairest boughs,

Or at every fentence' end,
Will I Rofalinda write;

Teaching all that read to know
This quinteffence of every fprite,
Heaven would in little fhow.
Therefore heaven nature charg'd,
That one body should be fill'd
With all graces wide enlarg'd:
Nature prefently diftill'd
Helen's cheeks, but not her heart;
Cleopatra's majefty;
Atalanta's better part;

Sad Lucretia's modefty.
Thus Rofalind of many parts

By heav'nly fynod was devis'd,

Of many faces, eyes and hearts,

To have the touches deareft prix'd.

Heav'n would that she these gifts should have,

And I to live and die her 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!

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

Cla. Come, fhepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. [Ex. Cor. and Clown.


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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 verses 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 verse, and therefore ftood lamely in the verse. Cel. But didft thou hear without wond'ring, 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 berhymed 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. Olord, lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes, and so encounter. Rof. Nay, but who is it?

Cel. Is it poffible?

Rof. Nay, I pr'ythee now, with moft 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 discovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, who is it? quickly, and speak apace; I would thou could'st stammer, that thou might'ft 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 pry'thee, 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 wrestler's heels, and your heart, both in an instant.

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 shall I do with my doublet and hose ? what did he, when thou faw'ft him? what faid he? how look'd he? wherein went he? what makes him 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 firft; 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's fize: to say ay, and no, to these particulars is more than to answer in a catechifm.

Rof. 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 eafy to count atoms as to refolve the propofitions of a lover: but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good obfervance. I found him under an oak-tree like a dropp'd


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 he, ftretch'd along, like a wounded knight. Rof. Though it be pity to fee fuch a fight, it well becomes the ground.

Cel. Cry, holla, to thy tongue, I pr'ythee; it curvets unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter.




Rof. O ominous! he comes to kill my heart.

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

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


Enter Orlando, and Jaques.

Cel. You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?
Rof. 'Tis he; flink by, and note him.

Faq. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone.

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

Faq. God b'w you, let's meet as little as we can.

Orla. I do defire we may be better Atrangers.

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

Orla. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them illfavouredly.

Faq. Rofalind is your love's name.

Orla. Yes, juft.

Faq. I do not like her name.

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

Jaq. What ftature is fhe of?

Orla. Juft as high as my heart.

Faq. 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 style of the 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 fit down with me, and we two will rail against our mistress, the world, and all our misery.

Orla. I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know no faults.

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