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Ros. As the coney, that you see dwell where she is kindled.
Orl. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling.
Ros. I have been told so of many: but, indeed, an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an in-land man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it; and I thank God I am not a woman, to be touch'd with so many giddy offences as he hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal.
Orl. Can you remember any of the principal evils, that he laid to the charge of women?
Ros. There were none principal; they were all like one another, as half-pence are: every one fault seeming monstrous, till his fellow fault came to match it.
Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.
to a living humour of madness; which was, to forswear the full stream of the world, and to live in a nook merely monastic: And thus I cured him; and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't.
Orl. I would not be cured, youth.
Orl. I pr'ythee, recount some of them.
Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES at a
Touch. Come apace, good Audrey; I will fetch
on those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on their barks; hangs odes upon haw-up your goats, Audrey: And how, Audrey? am I thorns, and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, the man yet? Doth my simple feature content you? deifying the name of Rosalind: if I could meet Aud. Your features! Lord warrant us! what that fancy-monger, I would give him some good features? counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him.
Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.
Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked; I pray you, tell me your remedy.
Ros. 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 sure, you are not Orl. What were his marks? [prisoner. Ros. A lean cheek; which you have not: a blue eye, and sunken; 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, simply, your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue:-Then your hose should be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbutton'd, your shoe untied, and every thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man; you are rather point-device in your accoutrements; as loving yourself, than seeming the lover of any other.
Ros. Me believe it? you may as soon make her that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do, than to confess she does: that is one of the points, in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired?
Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he. Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak? [much. Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how Ros. Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip, as madmen do: and the reason why they are not so punished and cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordinary, that the whippers are in love too: Yet I profess curing it by counsel.
Orl. Did you ever cure any so?
Ros. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo me: At which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking; proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every passion something, and for no passion 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 forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love,
Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and come every day to my cote, and woo [me where it is. Orl. Now, by the faith of my love, I will; tell Ros. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you; and, by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest you live: Will you go?
Orl. With all my heart, good youth.
Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind :-Come, sister, will you go? [Exeunt.
Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited! worse than Jove in a thatch'd house! (Aside.) Touch. When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward child, understanding, it strikes 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 honest in deed and word? Is it a true thing?
Touch. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry; and what they swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers, they do feign.
Aud. Do you wish then, that the gods had made me poetical?
Touch, I do, truly: for thou swear'st to me, thou art honest; now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst feign.
Aud. Would you not have me honest?
Touch. No truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd; for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a sauce to sugar.
Jaq. A material fool!
(A side.) Aud. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me honest!
Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut, were to put good meat into an unclean dish. Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods I am foul.
Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness! sluttishness 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 promised to meet me in this place of the forest, and to couple us.
Jaq. I would fain see this meeting. Aud. Well, the gods give us joy! Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no assembly but hornbeasts. But what though? Courage! As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is said,-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 so:-Poor men alone?- -No, no; the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore blessed? No: as a wall'd town is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married man
more honourable than the bare brow of à bachelor: and by how much defence is better than no skill, by so much is a horn more precious than to want.
Enter Sir OLIVER MAR-TEXT.
Here comes sir Oliver:-Sir Oliver Mar-text, you are well met: Will you despatch us here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel?
Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman? Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. Sir Oli. Truly she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.
Jag. (Discovering himself.) Proceed, proceed; I'll give her.
Touch. Good even, good master What ye call't: How do you, sir? You are very well met: God'ild you for your last company: I am very glad to see you:-Even a toy in hand here, sir :-Nay; pray, be cover'd.
Jaq. Will you be married, motley? Touch. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, and the faulcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.
Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a bush, like a beggar? Get you to church, and have a good priest, that can tell you what marriage is: this fellow will but join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will prove a shrunk pannel, and, like green timber, warp, warp.
Touch. I am not in the mind but I were better
Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.
Ros. I'faith, his hair is of a good colour. Cel. An excellent colour: your chesnut was ever the only colour.
Cel. Yes, when he is in; but, I think he is not in
Ros. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread.
Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nan of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.
"Ros. "But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not?
Cel. Nay certainly, there is no truth in him.
Cel. Yes: I think he is not a pick-purse, nor a horse-stealer; but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a cover'd goblet, or a worm
Ros. Not true in love?
Cel. Was is not is: besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmers of false reckonings: He attends here in the forest on the duke your father.
Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much question with him: He asked me, of what parentage I was? I told him, of as good as he; so he laugh'd, and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando?
Cel. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose: but all's brave, that youth mounts, and folly guides:-Who comes here?
Ros. Never talk to me, I will weep.
Cel. Do, I pr'ythee; but yet have the grace to 'Tis pretty, sure, and very probable, consider, that tears do not become a man.
Ros. But have I not cause to weep? Cel. As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep: Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. Cel. Something browner than Judas's: marry, his kisses are Judas's own children.
SCENE V.-Another part of the Forest.
Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not,
Say, that you love me not; but say not so
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck,
Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN, 'at a distance.
Phe. I would not be thy executioner;
That eyes, that are the frail'st and softest things,
Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall down;
Thy palm some moment keeps: but now mine eyes,
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;
That you insult, exult, and all at once,
(As, by my faith, I see no more in you
I had rather hear you chide, than this man woo. Ros. He's fallen in love with her foulness, and she'll fall in love with my anger: If it be so, as fast as she answers thee with frowning looks, I'll sauce her with bitter words.-Why look you so upon me? Phe. For no ill will I bear you.
Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me, For I am falser than vows made in wine: Besides, like you not: If you will know my house,
"Tis at the tuft of olives, bere hard by
[Exeunt Rosalind, Celia, and Corin. Phe. Dead shepherd! now I find thy saw of might;
Who ever lov'd, that lov'd not at first sight?
Phe. Thou hast my love; is not that neighbourly? Sil. I would have you. Phe. Why, that were covetousness. Silvius, the time was, that I hated thee; And yet it is not, that I bear thee love: But since that thou canst talk of love so well, Thy company, which erst was irksome to me, I will endure; and I'll employ thee too: But do not look for further recompense, Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd. Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my love, And I in such a poverty of grace, That I shall think it a most plenteous crop To glean the broken ears after the man That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then A scatter'd smile, and that I'll live upon.
Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me ere while?
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, though I ask for him; 'Tis but a peevish boy:---yet he talks well;— But what care I for words? yet words do well, When he, that speaks them, pleases those that hear. It is a pretty youth :-not very pretty :— But, sure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes
He'll make a proper man: The best thing in him
Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference
Betwixt the constant red, and mingled damask. There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him
In parcels as I did, would have gone near
He said, mine eyes were black, and my hair black;
Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES. Jaq. I pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee.
Ros. They say you are a melancholy fellow. Jaq. I am so; I do love it better than laughing. Ros. Those, that are in extremity of either, are abominable fellows; and betray themselves to every modern censure, worse than drunkards.
Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. Ros. 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 courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier's, which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; 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 sundry contemplation of my travels in which my often rumination wraps me, is a most humorous sadness.
Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear, you have sold your own lands, to see other men's; then, to have seen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands.
Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience.
Ros. And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have a fool to make me merry, than experience to make me sad; and to travel for it too.
Orl. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind! Jaq. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk in blank verse. [Exit, Ros. Farewell, monsieur traveller: Look, you
Ros. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than you can make a woman: Besides, he brings his destiny with him.
Orl. What's that?
Ros. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to be beholden to your wives for: but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the slander of his wife. [is virtuous. Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind Ros. And I am your Rosalind. Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you.
Ros. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour, and like enough to consent:What would you say to me now, an I were your very very Rosalind?
Orl. I would kiss, before I spoke. Ros. Nay, you were better speak first; and when you were gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers, lacking (God warn us!) matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss. Orl. How if the kiss be denied?
Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter. [mistress?
Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress; or I should think my honesty ranker than
Orl. What, of my suit?
Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind?
Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her. [you. Ros. Well, in her person, say I will not have Orl. Then, in mine own person, I die. Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed 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 lived many a fair year, though Hero had turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midsummer night for, good youth, he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespout, and, being taken with the cramp, was drowned; and the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was-Hero of Sestos. But these are all lies; men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.
Orl. I would not have my right Rosalind of this mind; for, I protest, her frown might kill me.
Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly: But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition; and ask me what you will, I will grant it.
Orl. Then love ine, Rosalind.
Ros. I might ask you for your commission; but, I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband: There girl goes before the priest; and, certainly, a woman's thought runs before her actions.
Orl. So do all thoughts: they are winged. Ros. Now tell me, how long you would have her, after you have possessed her.
Orl. For ever, and a day.
Ros. Say a day, without the ever: No, no, Orlando; men are April when they woo, December when they wed; maids are May when they are maids, but the sky changes when they are wives. I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cockpigeon over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot against rain; more new-fangled than an ape; more giddy in my desires than a monkey: I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep.
Orl. But will my Rosalind do so?
Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this: the wiser, the waywarder: Make the doors upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney. Orl. A man, that had a wife with such a wit, he might say,-Wit, whither wilt?
Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. [that? Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse Ros. Marry, to say,-she came to seek you there. You shall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool. [thee. Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner; by two o'clock I will be with thee again.
Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways;-I knew what you would prove; my friends told me as much, and I thought no less-that flattering tongue of yours won me :---'tis but one cast away, and so,come, death.-Two o'clock is your hour?
Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind.
Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths, that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise, or come one minute behind your hour, will think you the most pathetical break-promise, and the most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful: therefore, beware my censure, and keep your promise.
Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert | indeed my Rosalind: So, adieu.
Ros. Well, time is the old justice, that examines all such offenders, and let time try: Adien!
Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love-prate we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and shew the world what the bird hath done to her own nest.
Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded; my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal.
Cel. Or rather bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out.
Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and born of madness; that blind rascally boy, that abuses every one's eyes, because his own are out, let him be judge, how deep I am in love :-I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come. Cel. And I'll sleep. [Exeunt
(Giving a letter.)
I know not the contents; but, as
Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter,
Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents; Phebe did write it.
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands;
Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and cruel style,
Ros. Come, come, you are a fool, And turn'd into the extremity of love. I saw her hand: she has a leather hand,
A freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think,
Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty. [writes. Ros. She Phebe's me: Mark how the tyrant Art thou god to shepherd turn'd, (Reads.) That a maiden's heart hath burn'd? Can a woman rail thus? Sil. Call you this railing?
Ros. Why, thy godhead laid apart,
Warr'st thou with a woman's heart? Did you ever hear such railing?
Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
If the scorn of your bright eyne
Ros. Do you pity him? no, he deserves no pity.-Wilt thou love such a woman?-What, to make thee an instrument, and play false strains upon thee! not to be endured!-Well, go your way to her, (for I see, love hath made thee a tame snake,) and say this to her ;-That if she love me, I charge her to love thee: if she will not, I will never have her, unless thou entreat for her.-If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word; for here comes more company, [Exit Silvius.
Enter OLIVER. Oli. Good morrow, fair ones: Pray you, if you know
Where, in the purlieus of this forest, stands
Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour bottom,
The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream,
Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Cel. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say, we are.
Ros. I am what must we understand by this? Oli. Some of my shame; if you will know of me What man I am, and how, and why, and where This handkerchief was stain'd.