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 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 inftant.

Rof. Nay, but the devil take mockings; 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 faid 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 fhalt thou see him again? anfwer 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 fize. To fay, ay, and no, to these particulars, is more than to answer in a catechifm.

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 eafy to count atoms, as to refolve the propofitions of a lover: but take a tafte of my find

-Garagantua's mouth.] Rofalind requires nine queftions to be answered in one word; Celia tells her that a word of fuch

magnitude is too big for any mouth but that of Garagantua, the giant of Rabelais.

ing him, and relish it with good obfervance. I found him under a 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 he stretch'd along like a wounded Knight.

Rof. Tho' it be pity to see such 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. Oh, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.

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

Rof. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I muft fpeak-Sweet, say on.

SCENE VII.

Enter Orlando and Jaques.

Cel. You bring me out.

Soft, comes he not here? and note him.

Rof. 'Tis he; flink by,

[Celia and Rofalind retire.

Jaq. 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.

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

6—

- I found him under a tree like a dropp'd acorn.] We should read,

Under AN OAK tree. This appears from what follows -like a dropp'd acorn. For how

did he look like a dropp'd acorn unless he was found under an oak-tree? And from Rofalind's reply, that it might well be called Jove's tree: For the Oak was facred to Jove. WARBURTON.

Jaq.

Faq. I pray you marr no more trees with writing love-fongs in their barks.

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

Jaq. Rofalind, is your love's name?

Oria. Yes, juft.

Jaq. I do not like her name.

Orla. There was no thought of pleafing you, when fhe was christen'd.

Jaq. What ftature is she of?

Orla. Juft as high as my heart.

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

Orla. Not fo: 7 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 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 my felf, against whom I know moft 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.

Jaq. By my troth, I was feeking for a fool, when I found you.

Orla. He is drown'd in the brook; look but in, and you fhall fee him.

Jaq. There I fhall fee mine own figure.

7—but I answer you right painted cloth. This alludes to the Fashion, in old Tapestry Hangings, of Motto's and moral Sentences from the Mouths of the Figures work'd or painted in them. The Poet again hints at this Custom in his Poem, call'd, Tarquin and Lucrece:

Who fears a Sentence, or an old
Man's Saw,

Shall by a painted Cloth be kept in Awe. THEOBALD. Sir T. Hammer reads, I an/wer you right, in the ftile of the painted cloth. Something feems wanting, and I know not what can be propofed better.

Orla.

Orla. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cypher. Jaq. I'll ftay no longer with you; farewel, good Signior love! [Exit.

SCENE VIII.

Orla. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good Monfieur melancholy! [Cel. and Rof. come forward. Rof. I will speak to him like a fawcy lacquey, and under that habit play the knave with him-Do you hear, forefter ?

Orla. Very well; what would you ?

Rof. I pray you, what is't a clock?

Orla. You should ask me, what time o'day; there's no clock in the Forest.

Rof. Then there is no true lover in the Foreft; else, fighing every minute, and groaning every hour, would detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock.

Orla. And why not the swift foot of time? had not that been as proper?

Rof. By no means, Sir: time travels in divers paces, with divers perfons; I'll tell you whom time ambles withal, whom time trots withal, whom time gallops withal, and whom he stands still withal.

Orla. I pr'ythee, whom doth he trot withal?

Rof. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, be tween the contract of her marriage, and the day it is folemnized if the interim be but a fennight, time's pace is so hard that it feems the length of seven years. Orla. Who ambles time withal?

Rof. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man that hath not the gout; for the one fleeps easily because he cannot ftudy; and the other lives merrily, because he feels no pain: the one lacking the burden of lean and wafteful learning; the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury. These time ambles withal.

Orla. Whom doth he gallop withal ?

Rof. With a thief to the gallows: for though he

g9

as

as foftly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too foon there.

Orla. Whom stays it still withal ?

Rof. With lawyers in the vacation; for they fleep between term and term, and then they perceive not how time moves.

Orla. Where dwell you, pretty youth?

Rof. With this fhepherdefs, my fifter; here in the skirts of the foreft, like fringe upon a petticoat. Orla. Are you native of this place?

Rof. As the cony, that you fee dwell where the is

kindled.

Orla. You accent is fomething finer, than you could purchase in fo removed a dwelling.

Rof. I have been told fo of many; but, indeed, an old religious Uncle of mine taught me to fpeak, who was in his youth an * inland man, who knew courtfhip too well: for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it; I thank God, I am not a woman, to be touch'd with fo many giddy offences as he hath generally tax'd their whole fox withal.

Orla. Can you remember any of the principal evils,. that he laid to the charge of women?

Rof. There were none principal, they were all like one another, as half-pence are; every one fault seeming monftrous, 'till his fellow fault came to match it. Orla. 1 pr'ythee, recount fome of them.

Rof. No; I will not caft away my phyfick, but on thofe that are fick. There is a man haunts the Foreft, that abuses our young Plants with carving Rofalind on their barks; hang Odes upon hawthorns, and Elegies on brambles; all, forfooth, deifying the name of RoSalind. If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him that good counfel, for he feems to have the Quotidian of love upon him.

-inland man, ,] Is ufed in So Orlando before-Yet am I inthis play for one civilised, in op- land bred, and know some nurture. pofition to the ruftick of the priest.

Orla,