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Rof. Ay, and twenty such.
Orla. What say'st thou?
Rof. Are you not good ?
Orla, I hope fo.

Rof. Why then, can one desire too much of a good thing?
Come, sister, you shall be the priest, and marry us.

Give me your hand, Orlando. What do you say, sister?

Orla. Pray thee, marry us.
: Cel. I cannot say the words.
Rof. You must begin, Will you

Orlando -
Cel. Go to: Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rosalind ?
Orla. I will.
Rof. Ay, but when ?
Orla. Why, now, as fast as the can marry us.
Rof. Then you must say, I take thee Rosalind for wife.
Orla. I take thee Rosalind for wife.

Rof. I might ask you for your commission; but I do take thee,
Orlando, for

my husband: there's a girl goes before the priest, and, certainly, a woman's thought runs before her actions.

Orla. So do all thoughts; they are wing’d.
Rof. Now tell me, how long you would love her after

you have poffess’d her.

Orla. For ever and a day.

Rof. 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 dispos’d to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when you are inclin’d to sleep.

Orla. But will my Rosalind do so ?
Rof. By my life, she will do as I do.
Orla. O, but she is wise.
Rof. Or else she could not have the wit to do this; the wiser,


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the waywarder: make the doors fast upon a woman's wit, and it
will out at the casement; shut that, and ’twill out at the keyhole;
stop that, it will fly with the smoke out at the chimney.

Orla. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say,
wit, whither wilt ?

Rof. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till you met your
wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.

Orla. And what wit could wit have to excuse that?
Rof. Marry, to say, she came to seek

you there: you shall
never take her without her answer, unless you take her without
her tongue. O, that woman, that cannot make her fault her
husband's accusation, let her never nurse her child herself, for
she will breed it like a fool !

Orla. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.
Ref. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours.

Orla. I must attend the duke at dinner, by two o'clock I will
be with thee again.
: Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what

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'th'clock is

Orla. Ay, sweet Rosalind.

Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and fo 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.

Orla. With no less religion than if thou wert indeed my
Rosalind : so, adieu.

Ref. Well, time is the old justice that. examines all such
offenders, and let time try: adieu.

[Exit. Orla.

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S CE N E III. Cel. You have fimply misus’d our sex in your love-prate : we must have


doublet and hose pluck'd over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own neft.

Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didA know how many fathom deep I am in love! but it cannot be founded: 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.

Ref. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceiv’d 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 light of Orlando : I'll go shadow, and sigh till he come. Cel. And I'll sleep.


Enter Jaques, Lords, and Forefters.
Jaq. Which is he that kill'd the deer?
Lord. Sir, it was I.

Jaq. Let's present him to the duke like a Roman conqueror; and it would do well to fet the deer's horns upon his head for a branch of victory: have you no long, forester, for this purpose ?

For. Yes, fir.

Jaq. Sing it: 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough.

Mufick, Song.
What fall he have that kill'd the deer ?
His leather skin and horns to wear ;
Then fing him home : take tbou no fcorn

[The rest shall bear this burden.
To wear the horn, the horn, the born:
It was a crest ere thou waft born.


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Enter Rosalind, and Celia.
Rof. How say you now, is it not past two o'clock?
I wonder much Orlando is not here.

Cel. I warrant you, with pure love, and troubled brain, he
hath ta’en his bow and arrows, and is gone forth to fleep: look,
who comes here.

Enter Sylvius.
Syl. My errand is to you, fair youth,
My gentle Phebe bid me give you this :
I know not the contents; but, as I guess,

By the stern brow and waspish action
Which she did use as she was writing of it,
It bears an angry tenour; pardon me,
I am but as a guiltless messenger.
Rof. Patience herself would startle at this letter,

[after reading the letter.
And play the swaggerer ; bear this, bear all.
She says, I am not fair ; that I lack manners;
She calls me proud; and that she could not love me
Were man as rare as phænix: odd's my

Her love is not the hare that I do hunt.
Why writes fhe fo to me? Well, shepherd, well,
This is a letter of your own device.

Syl. No, I protest, I know not the contents;
Phebe did write it.

Ros. Come, come, you're a fool,
And turn’d into the extremity of love.
I saw her hand; she has a leathern hand,
A freestone-coloured hand; I verily did think


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That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands ;
She has a huswife's hand; but that's no matter :
I say, she never did invent this letter;
This is a man's invention, and his hand.

Syl. Sure, it is hers.

Rof. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style,
A style for challengers; why, the 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?
Syl. So please you, for I never heard it

yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty.

Rof. She Phebe’s me: mark, how the tyrant writes. [reads.] Art thou god to Mepherd turn’d,

That a maiden's heart bath burn'd?
Can a woman rail thus?

Syl. Call you this railing?
ŘOS. [reads.] Why, thy godhead lay'd apart,

Warrst thou with a woman's heart?
Did you ever hear such railing?

Whiles the eye of man did woo me,

That could do no vengeance to me.
Meaning me a beast.

If the scorn of your bright eyne
Have power to raise such love in mine,
Alack, in me, what strange effeet

Would they work in mild aspect ?


chid me, I did love;
How then might your prayers move!
He that brings this love to thee
Little knows this love in me;
And by him seal up thy mind,
Whether that thy youth and kind
Will the faithful offer take
Of me, and all that I can make;


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