Phe. Dead shepherd, now I find thy faw of might, teda tua Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?

If

Sil. Sweet Phebe!

Phe. Hah: what fay'ft thou, Silvius? ·

Sil. Sweet Phebe, pity me.

Phe. Why I am forry for thee, gentle Silvius.

Sil. Where-ever forrow is, relief would be;

you

do forrow at my grief in love,

By giving love, your forrow and my grief

Were both extermin'd.

Phe. Thou haft my love; is not that neighbourly?
Sil. I would have you.

Phe. Why that were covetoufnefs.

Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee;

And yet it is not that I bear thee love;

But fince that thou canst talk of love fo well,
Thy company, which erft was irksome to me,
I will endure; and I'll employ thee too:
But do not look for further recompence,
Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd.
Sil. So holy and so perfect is my love,

And fuch a poverty of grace attends it,
That I fhall think it a moft plenteous crop

To glean the broken ears after the mat

That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then

A fcatter'd fmile, and that I'll live upon.

Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me erewhile?
Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft,

And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds
That the old Carlot once was master of.

Phe. Think not I love him, tho' I ask for him; 'Tis but a peevish boy, yet he talks well,

But

But what care I for words? yet words do well, ~0~19
When he that speaks them pleases those that hear:
It is a pretty youth, not very pretty;

?

But fure he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him; 39
He'll make a proper man; the best thing in him t
Is his complexion; and faster than his tongue
Did make offence, his eye did heal it up:

He is not very tall,

。

1

yet for his years he's tall; worth woy il His leg is but fo fo, and yet 'tis well; 'There was a pretty redness in his lip, A little riper, and more lufty red

Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference 'Betwixt the conftant red and mingled damask.

There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him
In parcels as I did, would have gone near
To fall in love with him; but for my part

I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet

I have more cause to hate him than to love him:
For what had he to do to chide at me?

He said mine eyes were black, and my hair black,
And now I am remembred, fcorn'd at me;

I marvel why I answer'd not again,

But that's all one; omittance is no quittance.
I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
And thou fhalt bear it; wilt thou Silvius?
Sil. Phebe, with all my heart.

Phe. I'll write it straight;

The matter's in my head, and in my heart,
I will be bitter with him, and passing short:
Go with me, Silvius.

[Exeunt.

A

ACT IV. SCENE I

Continues in the FOREST.

Enter Rofalind, Celia and Jaques.

JAQUES.

Pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better ac-
quainted with thee.

Rof. They fay you are a melancholy fellow.
Jaq. I am fo; I do love it better than laughing.
Rof. Thofe that are in extremity of either,

are abominable fellows, and betray themselves to every modern cenfure, worfe than drunkards. Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be fad, and fay nothing. Rof. Why then 'tis good to be a post.

Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtiers, which is proud; nor the soldier's, which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politick; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these; but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the fundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous fadness.

Ros. A traveller! by my faith you have great reafon to be fad: I fear you have fold your own lands, to see other mens; then, to have seen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands.

Jaq. Yes, I have gain'd experience.

Enter

Enter Orlando.

Rof. And your experience makes you fad: I had rather have a fool to make me merry, than experience to make me fad, and to travel for it too.

Orla. Good day, and happiness, dear Rofalind.

Jaq. Nay, then God b'w'y you, an you talk in blank verse.

SCENE II.

[Exit.

Ros. Farewel, monfieur traveller; look you lifp, and wear strange fuits; difable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your nativity, and almoft chide God for making you that countenance you are, or I will scarce think you have fwam in a Gondola. Why how now Orlando, where have you been all this while? You a lover? an you ferve me fuch another trick, never come in my fight more.

Orla. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promife. Ros. Break an hour's promise in love? he that will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the thoufandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him, that Cupid hath clapt him o'th' fhoulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole.

Orla. Pardon me, dear Rofalind.

Rof. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my fight, I had as lief be woo'd of a fnail.

Orla. Of a fnail?

Rof. Ay, of a fnail; for tho' he comes flowly, he carries his houfe on his head: a better jointure, I think, than you make a woman; befides he brings his destiny with him.

Orla. What's that?

Rof. Why horns; which fuch as you, are fain to be beholden to your wives for; but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the flander of his wife.

Orla.

20

Orla. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is virtuous.
Rof. And I am your Rofalind.

Cel. It pleases him to call you fo; but he hath a Rofalind of a better leer than you.

Rof. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holyday humour, and like enough to confent: what would you say to me now, an I were your very, very Rofalind?

Orla. I would kifs before I fpoke.

Rof. Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were gravell❜d for lack of matter, you might take occafion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will fpit; and for lovers lacking, God warn us, matter, the cleanlieft fhift is to kifs. Orla. How if the kifs be denied?

Rof. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter. Orla. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress? Rof. Marry that should you if I were your mistress, or I should think my honefty ranker than my wit.

Orla. What, of my fuit?

Rof. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your fuit. Am not I your Rofalind?

Orla. I take fome joy to fay you are, because I would be talking of her.

Rof. Well, in her perfon, I say I will not have you.

Orla. Then in mine own perfon I die.

Rof. No faith, die by attorney; the poor world is almost fix thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own perfon, videlicet, in a love caufe: Troilus had his brains dafh'd out with a Grecian club, yet he did what he could to die before, and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have liv'd many a fair year, tho' Hero had turn'd nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash in the Hellefpont, and being taken with the cramp was drown'd; and the foolish chroniclers

of