Cor. Sir, I am a true Labourer, I earn that I eat; get that I wear; owe no Man Hate, envy no Man's Happiness; glad of other Mens good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my Pride, is to fee my Ewes graze, and my Lambs fuck.

Clown. That is another fimple 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 a Bawd to a Bellweather, and to betray a She-Lamb of a Twelve-month to a crooked Pated old Cuckoldly Ram, out of all reasonable Match. If thou be'st not Damn'd for this, the Devil himfelf will have no Shepherds; I cannot fee how thou should'st fcape.

Cor. Here comes Mr. Ganimed, my new Miftrefs's Brother.

Enter Rofalind with a Paper.

Rof. From the East to Western Inde,
No Jewel is like Rofalind,

Her Worth being mounted on the Wind,
Through all the World bears Rofalind.
All the Pictures fairest Lind,

Are but black to Rofalind;

Let no Face be kept in mind,

But the most fair Rofalind.

Clown. I'll Rhime you fo, eight years together; dinners, and fuppers, and fleeping hours excepted: It is the right - Butter-womens rank to Market.

Rof. Out Fool.

Clown. For a taste.

If a Hart doth lack a Hind,
Let him feek out Rofalind.
If the Cat will after Kind,
So be fure will Rofalind.
Winter Garments must be lin'd,
So muft fender Rofalind.
They that Reap must fheaf and bind,
Then to Cart with Rofalind.
Sweetest Meat hath fowreft Rind,
Such a Nut is Rofalind.

He that sweetest Rofe will find,

Muft find Loves prick, and Rofalind.

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

Rof. Peace, you dull Fool, I found them on a Tree.
Clown. Truly, the Tree yields bad Fruit.

Rof. I'll graff it with you, and then I fhall graff it with a Medler; than it will be the earliest Fruit i'th' Country; for you'll be rotten e'er you be half ripe, and that's the right Vertue of the Medler.

Clown. You have faid; but whether wifely or no, let the Foreft judge.

Enter Celia with a Writing.

Rof. Peace, here comes my Sifter reading, ftand afide.

Cel. Why should this a Defart be?

For it is unpeopled. No;
Tongues I'll hang on every Tree,
That shall civil Sayings fhow.
Some, how brief the Life of Man
Runs his erring Pilgrimage,
That the ftretching of a Span,
Buckles in his fum of Age.
Some of violated Vows,

'Twixt the Souls of Friend and Friend,
But upon the fairest Boughs,

Or at every Sentence end,

Will I Rofalinda write;

Teaching all that read, to know
This Quinteffence of every Sprite,
Heaven would in little fhow.
Therefore Heaven Nature charg'd,
That one Body Should be fill'd
With all the 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 Modesty.

Thus Rofalind of many parts,
By heav'nly Synod was devis'd,

Of

Of many Faces, Eyes and Hearts,

To have the touches dearest priz'd.
Heav'n would that fhe thefe Gifts fhould have,

And I to live and die her Slave.

Rof. 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, Shepherd go off a little : Go with him, Sirrah.

Clown. Come, Shepherd, let us make an Honourable Retreat, tho' not with Bag and Baggage, yet with Scrip and Scrippage. Exit Cor, and Clown.

Cel. Didft thou hear thefe Verfes? 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 Verfes.

Rof. Ay, but the Feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the Verfe, and therefore ftood lamely in the Verfe.

Cel. But didft thou hear without wondring, how thy Name should be hang'd and carv'd upon thefe Trees?

Ref. 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 berhim'd fince Pythagoras's time, that I was an Irish Rat, which I can hardly remember.

Cel. Tro you, who hath done this?

Rof. Is it a Man?

Cel. And a Chain that you once wore, about his Neck: Change you colour?

Ref. I prethee who?

Cel. O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for Friends to meet; but Mountains may be remov'd with Earthquakes, and fo encounter.

Rof. Nay, but who is it?

Cel. Is it poffible?

Ref. Nay, I prethee 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 hoping.

M 4

Rof

Rof. Good 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 South Sea of discovery. I prethee tell me, who is it, quickly, and speak apace? I would thou could'ft ftammer, 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 prethee take the Cork out of thy Mouth, that I may drink thy tidings.

Cel. So you may put a Man in your Belly.
Ref. 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 trip'd up the Wreftler'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 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 he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? And when fhalt thou fee him again? Anfwer me in one word.

Cel. You must borrow me Gargantua's Mouth firft; 'tis a Word too great for any Mouth of this Age's fize: To fay ay and no to thefe 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 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 a Tree like a dropp'd Acorn.

Ref.

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

Cel. Give me Audience, good Madam.

Ref. Proceed.

Cel. There lay he ftretch'd along like a wounded Knight.

Rof. Tho' it be pity to see such a fight, it well becomes the Ground.

Cry. Cry halla, to thy Tongue, I prethee; it curvets un feasonably. He was furnish'd like a Hunter.

Rof. O ominous, he comes to kill my Heart.

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

Rof. Do you not know I am a Woman, when I think I muft fpeak Sweet, 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 my felf alone.

Orla. And fo had I; but yet, for fashion fake,

I thank you too, for your Society.

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

Jaq. I pray you marr no more Trees with writing LoveSongs in their Barks.

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

Jag. Rofalind is your Love's name?

Orla. Yes, Juft.

Jaq. I do not like her Name.

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

Jaq. What Stature is she 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 anfwer you right, painted Cloth, from whence you have ftudied your Questions?

Jaq. You have a nimble Wit; I think it was made of

Ata