Atalanta's Hçels. Will you fit down with me, and we two will rail against our Mistress the World, and all our Mifery,

Orla. I will chide no Brother in the World but my felf, against whom I know no faults.

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

Oria. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your beft 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.

Oria. Which I take to be either a Fool, or a Cypher. Jaq. I'll stay no longer with you; farewel, good Signior Love.

[Exit. Orla. I am glad of your Departure: Adieu, good Monfieur Melancholy.

Rof. I will speak to him like a fawcy Laquey, 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 fhould ask me what time o' day; there's no Clock in the Foreft.

Rof. Then there is no true Lover in the Foreft, elfe 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?

Ref. By no means, Sir; Time travels in divers Places, with divers Perfons; I'll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he ftands ftill withal.

Orla. I prethee, whom doth he trot withal?

Rof. Marry, he trots hard with a young Maid, between the Contract of her Marriage, and the Day it is Solemniz'd; If the interim be but a fennight, Time's pace is fo hard that it feems the length of feven 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 eafily because he can

not

not study, and the other lives merrily, becaufe he feels no pain: The one lacking the burthen of lean and wafteful Learning; the other knowing no burthen of heavy tedious Penury. These Time ambles withal.

Orla. Whom doth he gallop withal?

go

Rof. With a Thief to the Gallows: For though he as foftly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too foon there. Orla. Whom ftays it ftill 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?

Raf. With this Shepherdefs, my Sifter; 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 fce dwell where fhe is kindled.

Orla. Your 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 Unkle of mine taught me to fpeak, who was in his Youth an Inland Man, one that knew Coutfhip too well; for there he fell in Love. I have heard him read many LeAures 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 Sex 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's fault feeming mon ftrous, 'till his fellow fault came to match it.

Orla. I prethee recount fome of them.

Rof. No; I will not caft away my Phyfick, but on those that are Sick. There is a Man haunts the Forest, that abufes our young Plants with carving Rofalind on their Barks; hangs Odes upon Hawthorns, and Elegies on Bram bles; all, forfooth, deifying the Name of Rofalind. If I could meet that Fancy-monger, I would give him fome good Counfel, for he feems to have the Quotidian of Love upon him,

Orla

Orla. I am he that is fo Love-fhak'd; I pray you, tell me your Remedy.

Rof. There is none of my Unkle's Marks upon you; he taught me how to know a Man in Love; in which Cage of Rushes, I am fure you are not Prisoner.

Orla. What were his Marks?

Rof. A lean Cheek, which you have not; a blue Eye and funken, which you have not; an unquestionable Spirit, which you have not; a Beard neglected, which you have not; but I pardon you for that, for fimply your having no Beard, is a younger Brother's Revenue; Then your Hose fhould be ungarter'd, your Bonnet unbanded, your Sleeve unbutton'd, your Shoo untied, and every thing about you demonftrating a carelefs Defolation; but you are no fuch Man, you are rather Point device in your Accoutrements, as loving your felf, than feeming the Lover of any other.

Orla. Fair Youth, I would I could make thee believe I Love.

Rof. Me believe it? You may as foon make her that you love believe it, which I warrant fhe is apter to do, than to confefs fhe does; that is one of the Points, in the which Women still give the Lie to their Confciences. But in good footh, are you he that hangs the Verfes on the Trees, wherein Rofalind is fo admired?

Orla. I fwear to thee, Youth, by the white Hand of Rofalind, I am he, that unfortunate he.

Rof. But are you so much in Love, as your Rhimes speak? Orla. Neither Rhime nor Reason can exprefs how much. Rof. Love is meerly a Madness, and, I tell you, deferves as well a dark Houfe, and a Whip, as mad Men do: And the reafon why they are not fo punish'd and cured, is, that the Lunacy is fo ordinary, that the Whippers are in love too: Yet I profefs curing it by Counsel.

me.

Orla. Did you ever cure any fo?

Rof. Yes one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me his Love, his Miftrefs: and I fet him every day to woo At which time would I, being but a moonish Youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking, proud, fantaftical, apifh, fhallow, inconftant, full of Tears, full of Smiles; for every Paffion fomething, and for no Paffion truly any thing, as Boys and Women are for the most

part

part Cattle of this Colour; would now like him, now loath him; then entertain him, then forfwear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave this Suitor from his mad Humour of Love, to a living Humour of Madness, which was to forfwear the full Stream of the World, and to live in a Nook meerly Monaftick; and thus I cur'd him, and this way will I take upon me to wash your Liver as clear as a found Sheep's Heart, that there shall not be one Spot of Love in't.

Orla. I would not be cur'd, Youth.

Rof. I would cure you if you would but call me Rofalind, and come every Day to my Cote, and woo me.

Orla. Now by the Faith of my Love, I will; tell me where it is.

Ref. Go with me to it, and I will fhew it you; and by the way you fhall tell me where in the Foreft you live: Will you go?

Orla. With all my Heart, good Youth.

Rof. Nay, nay, you must call me Rofalind: Come Sifter, will you go?

SCENE III.

Enter Clown, Audrey and Jaques.

[Exeunt.

Clo. Come apace, good Audrey, I will fetch up your Goats, Audrey; and now, Audrey, am I the Man yet? Doth my fimple Feature content you?

And. Your Features, Lord warrant us; what Features ? Clo. I am here with thee, and thy Goats, as the most capricious Poet honeft Ovid was among the Goths.

Faq. O Knowledge ill inhabited, worse than Jove in a Thatch't House.

Clo. When a Man's Verfes cannot be understood, nor a Man's good Wit feconded with the forward Child, Underftanding; it ftrikes a Man more dead than a great Reckoning in a little Room; truly, I would the Gods had made thee Poetical.

Aud. I do not know what Poetical is; is it honeft in Deed and Word; is it a true thing?

Clo. No truly; for the trueft Poety is the most feigning,

and

and Lovers are given to Poetry; and what they fwear in Poetry, may be faid as Lovers, they do feign.

Aud. Do you wish then that the Gods had made me Poetical?

Clo. I do truly; for thou fwear'ft to me thou art honeft: now if thou wert a Poet, I might have fome hope thou didft feign.

Aud. Would you not have me honeft?

Clo. No truly, unless thou were hard-favour'd; for Honefty coupled to Beauty, is to have Honey a Sauce to Sugar.

Jaq. A material Fool.

Aud. Well, I am not fair, and therefore I pray the Gods make me honeft.

Clo. Truly, and to caft away Honesty upon a foul Slut, were to put good Meat into an unclean Dish.

And. I am not a Slut, though I thank the Gods I am foul.

Clo. Well, praised be the Gods for thy Foulnefs; Sluttifhnefs may come hereafter: But be it as it may be, I will marry thee; and to that end I have been with Sir Oliver Mar-text, the Vicar of the next Village, who hath promis'd to meet me in this Place of the Foreft, and to couple

us.

Faq. I would fain fee this Meeting.

And. Well, the Gods give us Joy.

Clo. Amen. A Man may, if he were of a fearful Heart, ftagger in this Attempt; for here we have no Temple but the Wood, no Affembly but Horn-beafts. But what tho'? Courage. As Horns are odious, they are neceffary. It is faid, many a Man knows no End of his Goods; right: many a Man has good Horns, and knows no End of them. Well, that is the Dowry of his Wife, 'tis none of his own getting; Horns? even fo poor Men alone-no, no, the nobleft Deer hath them as huge as the Rafcal: Is the single Man therefore bleffed? No. As a wall'd Town is more worthier than a Village, fo is the Forehead of a married Man more honourable than the bare Brow of a Batchelor; and by how much Defence is better than no Skill, fo much is a Horn more precious than to want.

Enter