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Enter Rofalind, with a paper.

Rof. FROM the caft to western Inde.
No jewel is like Rofalind,

Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
Through all the world bears Rofalind.
All the picures, fairest lin’d,
Are but black to Rofalind;
Let no face be kept in mind,
But the face of Rofalind.

Clo. I'll rhime you fo, eight years together; dinners, and fuppers, and fleeping hours excepted: it is the right butter-women's rank to market.

Rof. Out, fool!

Clo. 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 lind,
So muft fender Rofalind.
They, that reap, must sheaf and bind ;
Then to Cart with Rofalind.
Sweetest nut hath fowreft rind,
Such a nut is Rofalind.

He that fweetest rose will find,

Muft find love's prick, and Rofalind.

This is the very false gallop of verses; why do you infect yourself with them?

Rof. Peace, you dull fool, I found them on a tree. Clo. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

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Rof. I'll graff it with you, and then I fhall graff it

with a medler; then it will be the earlieft fruit i' th' country for you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medler.

Clo. You have faid; but whether wifely or no, * let the Forefter judge.


Enter Celia, with a writing.

EACE, here comes my Sifter reading;

Rof. Prandafide.

Cel. Why should this a Defart be

For it is unpeopled? No;
Tongues I'll hang on every tree,
That fhall civil faying 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 fouls of friend and friend;
But upon the fairest boughs,

Or at every fentence 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 fhould be fill'd
With all graces wide enlarg'd;
Nature prefently diftill'd

Helen's cheeks, but not her heart,

Cleopatra's majesty;

Atalanta's better part;

Sad Lucretia's modefty.

* Let the Forest judge.] We fhould read Forefter, i. e. the Shep

herd who was there prefent.



Thus Rofalind of many parts

By heav'nly fynod was devis'd;
Of many faces, eyes and hearts,

To have the Touches dearest priz'd.
Heav'n would that she these gifts fhould have,
And I to live and die her flave.

Rof. *O moft gentle Juniper!-what tedious homily of love have you wearied your Parishioners withal, and never cry'd, have patience, good people? Cel. How now? back-friends! fhepherd, go off a little go with him, firrah.


Clo. Come, fhepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; tho' not with bag and baggage, yet with fcrip and scrippage. [Exeunt Cor. and Clown,


IDST thou hear these verses ?

Cel. D1 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 verses. Rof. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse.

Cel. But didft thou hear without wondring, how thy name should be hang'd and carv'd upon these trees?

Rof. 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 be-rhimed fince Pythagoras's time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember.

O most gentle Jupiter!] We fhould read Juniper, as the following Words thew, alluding to the proverbial Term of a Juniper Lecture: A fharp or unpleafing one; Juniper being a rough prickly



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Cel. Trow you, who hath done this?
Rof. Is it a man?

Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck: Change you colour?

Rof. I pr'ythee, who?

Cel. O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes, and so encounter.

Rof. Nay, but who is it?

Cel. Is it poffible?

Rof. Nay, I pr'ythee now, with moft petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is.

Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and moft wonderful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all whooping


Rof. Good my complexion! doft thou think, though I am caparifon'd like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my difpofition? One inch of delay more is a South-fea off discovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, who is it; quickly, and fpeak 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 pr'ythee, take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings.

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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 ftay 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.

Good my complexion!] This is a Mode of fays, which he cannot reconcile to Common Senfe. too the Oxford Editior. But the Meaning is, ion, i, e. let me not blufh.

Expreffion, Mr. Theobald
Like enough: and fo
Hold good my complex-


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 shall I do with my doublet and hose? 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 fee him again? answer me in one word.

Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's mouth firft; '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 Forest, 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 finding 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 fee fuch a fight, it well becomes the ground.

Gel. 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, fay on.


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