Rof. O ominous, he comes to kill my heart. Cel. I would fing my fong without a burden; thou bring❜it me out of tune.

Rof. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak 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.

[Cel. and Rof. 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 ftrangers.

Jaq. I pray you marr no more trees with writing love-longs in their barks.

Orla. (17) I pray you, marr no more of my verfes with reading them ill-favouredly.

Jaq. Rofalind, is your love's name ?

Orla. Yes, juft.

Jaq. I do not like her name.

Orla. There was no thought of pleasing you, when fhe was chriften'd.

Jaq. What ftature is fhe 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: (18) but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have ftudied your questions.

Jaq.

(17) I pray you, marr no more of my verfes with reading them illfavouredly.] The poet feems to have had in his eye this diftich of Martial; Lib. I. Epigr. 39.

Quem recitas, meus eft, o Fidentine, libellus ;

Sed malè dum recitas, incipit effe tuus.

(18) But I answer you right, painted cloth.] This alludes to the fashion, in old tapestry hangings, of mottos and moral fentences from

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 mifery.

Orla. I will chide no breather in the world but myself, 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.

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

[Exit. Orla. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good Monfieur melancholy! [Cel. and Rof. come forward. Rof. I will fpeak to him like a faucy 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 foreft.

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 who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he ftands ftill withal?

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

the mouths of the figures work'd or painted in them. The poet again hints at this cuftom in his poem, call'd Tarquin and Lucrece:

Who fears a Sentence, or an old man's faw,
Shall by a painted cloth be kept in awe,

4

Rof.

Rof. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, between the contract of her marriage, and the day it is folemniz'd: if the interim be but a fe'nnight, time's pace is fo hard that it feems the length of feven years.

Orla. who ambles time withal?

Rof. With a prieft that lacks Latin, and a rich man that hath not the gout; for the one fleeps eafily, because he cannot study; 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 go 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?

Rof. With this fhepherdefs, my fifter; here in the fkirts 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. 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 olda religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland man, one that knew courtship 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 fex withal.

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

Ref. There were none principal, they were all like one another, as half pence are; every one fault feeming monftrous, 'till his fellow fault came to match it.

Orla. I pr'ythee, recount fome of them.

Rof. No; I will not caft away my phyfick, but on

thofe

thofe that are fick. There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies on brambles; all, forfooth, deifying the name of Rofalind. If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him fome good counfel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him.

Orla. I am he that is so love-shak'd; I pray you, tell me your remedy.

Rof. There is none of my uncle'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 fpirit, which you have not; a beard neglected, which you have not; -but I pardon you for that, for fimply your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue; -then your hofe fhould be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your fleeve unbutton'd, your fhoe 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 yourself, than seeming 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, she is apter to do, than to confefs fhe does; that is one of the points, in the which women still give the lye to their confciences. But, in good footh, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rofalind is fo admired?

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

Rof. But are you so much in love, as your rhymes Speak?

Orla. Neither rhyme nor reafon can exprefs how much. Rof. Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you, deferves as well a dark house and a whip, as mad men do: and the reason why they are not fo punish'd and cured,

is, that the lunacy is fo ordinary, that the whippers are in love too: yet 1 profefs curing it by counsel. Orla. Did you ever cure any fo?

Raf. Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress: and I fet him every day to wooe me. At which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking; proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconftant, full of tears, full of fmiles; forevery paffion fomething, and for no paffion truly any thing, as boys and women are for the most 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 my fuitor 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 merely monaftick; and thús 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 fpot of love in't.

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

Rof. I would cure you if you would but call me Rosalind, 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.

Rof. 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, fifter, will you go?

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?

Aud. 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.

Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a thatch'd house!

VOL II.

Ch.