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Corin - Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their fells, you know, are greasy.

Touchstone — Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? and is not the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come.

Corin — Besides, our hands are hard.

Touchstone — Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again. A more sounder instance, come.

Corin — And they are often tarred over with the surgery of our sheep; and would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfumed with civet.

Touchstone — Most shallow man! thou worm's meat, in respect of a good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and perpend : civet is of a baser birth than tar, the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.

Corin - You have too courtly a wit for me: I'll rest.

Touchstone — Wilt thou rest damned ? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision in thee! thou art raw.

Corin — Sir, I am a true laborer: I earn that I eat, get that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's happiness, glad of other men's good, content with my harm, and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes graze and my lambs suck.

Touchstone - That is another simple sin in you, to bring the ewes and the rams together and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldy ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not damned for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst 'scape.


Orlando - Where dwell you, pretty youth ?

Rosalind — With this shepherdess, my sister: here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.

Orlando Are you native of this place ?
Rosalind As the cony that you see dwell where she is kindled.

Orlando - Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling.

Rosalind 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 inland 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 touched with so many giddy offenses as he hath generally taxed the whole sex withal.

Orlando - Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of women ?

Rosalind — 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.

Orlando I prithee, recount some of them.

Rosalind — No, I will not cast away my physic but 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 hawthorns and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind : if I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him.

Orlando - I am he that is so love-shaked: I pray you, tell me your remedy.

Rosalind - There is none of my uncle's marks upon you: ho taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes I am sure you are not prisoner.

Orlando - What were his marks ?

Rosalind - 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 ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and everything about you demonstrating a careless desolation; but you are no such man; you are rather point-device in your accouterments, as loving yourself than seeming the lover of any other.

Orlando — Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.

Rosalind 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. ..

Orlando - I would not be cured, youth.

Rosalind - I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind and come every day to my cote and woo me.

Orlando - Now, by the faith of my love, I will: tell me where it is.

Rosalind - 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?

Orlando - With all my heart, good youth.

Rosalind - Nay, you must call me Rosalind. Come, sistor, will you go?



(Hamlet, for whose love Ophelia has gone mad and drowned herself, meets ber

funeral cortège at the burial ground.)

Enter Two Clowns, with spades, etc.

1 Clown — Is she to be buried in Christian burial that willfully seeks her own salvation ?

2 Clown - I tell thee she is; and therefore make her grave straight: the crowner hath sat on her, and finds it Christian burial.

1 Clown – How can that be, unless she drowned herself in her own defense ?

2 Clown — Why, 'tis found so.

1 Clown - It must be se offendendo; it cannot be else. For here lies the point: if I drown myself wittingly, it argues an act, and an act hath three branches : it is, to act, to do, and to perform : argal, she drowned herself wittingly.

2 Clown - Nay, but hear you, goodman delver.

1 Clown Give me leave. Here lies the water; good: horo stands the man; good: if the man go to this water and drown himself, it is, will he nill he, he goes; mark you that; but if the water come to him and drown him, he drowns not himself: argal, he that is not guilty of his own death shortens not his own life.

2 Clown – But is this law ?
1 Clown — Ay, marry, is't; Crowner's Quest law.

2 Clown Will you ha' the truth on't? If this had not been a gentlewoman, she should have been buried out o' Christian burial.

1 Clown - Why, there thou say'st: and the more pity that great folk should have countenance in this world to drown or hang themselves, more than their even Christian. — Come, my spade. There is no ancient gentlemen but gardeners, ditchers, and grave makers: they hold up Adam's profession.

2 Clown - Was he a gentleman ?
1 Clown - A' was the first that ever bore arms.
2 Clown — Why, he had none.

1 Clown — What, art a heathen? How dost thou understand the Scripture? The Scripture says Adam digged: could he dig without arms ? I'll put another question to thee: if thou answerest mo not to the purpose, confess thyself

2 Clown Go to.

1 Clown – What is ho that builds stronger than either tho mason, the shipwright, or the carpenter?



2 Clown - The gallows maker; for that frame outlives a thousand tenants.

1 Clown - I like thy wit well, in good faith: the gallows does well; but how does it well ? it does well to those that do ill: now thou dost ill to say the gallows is built stronger than the church: argal, the gallows may do well to thee. To't again, come.

2 Clown Who builds stronger than a mason, a shipwright, or a carpenter 9

1 Clown - Ay, tell me that, and unyoke.
2 Clown - Marry, now I can tell.
1 Clown - To't.
2 Clown - Mass, I cannot tell.

Enter HAMLET and HORATIO, afar off.


1 Clown — Cudgel thy brains no more about it, for your dull will not mend his pace with beating; and, when you are asked this question next, say a grave maker: the houses that he makes last till doomsday. Go, get thee to Yaughan: fetch me a stoup of liquor.

[Exit Second Clown. [He digs and sings.]

In youth, when I did love, did love,

Methought it was very sweet,
To contract, oh! the time, for, ah! my behoove,

Oh, methought, there was nothing meet. Hamlet — Has this fellow no feeling of his business, that he sings at grave making?

Horatio Custom hath made it in him a property of easiness.

Hamlet — 'Tis e'en so: the hand of little employment hath the daintier sense. 1 Clown [sings] –

But age, with his stealing steps,

Hath clawed me in his clutch,
And hath shipped me intil the land,
As if I had never been such.

[Throws up a skull. Hamlet — That skull had a tongue in it, and could sing once: how the knave jowls it to the ground, as if it were Cain's jawbone, that did the first murder! It might be the pate of a politician, which this ass now o'erreaches; one that would circumvent God, might it not?

Horatio — It might, my lord.

Hamlet - Or of a courtier; which could say, Good morrow, sweet Lord ! How dost thou, sweet lord I This might be my lord Such-a one, that praised my lord Such-a-one's horse, when he meant to beg it; -might it not?

Horatio - Ay, my lord.

Hamlet - Why, e'en so: and now my Lady Worm's; chapless, and knocked about the mazzard with a sexton's spade: here's fine revolution, an we had the trick to see't. Did these bones cost no more the breeding, but to play at loggats with 'em ? mine ache to think on't. 1 Clown (sings] –

A pickax, and a spade, a spade,

For and a shrouding sheet: 0, a pit of clay for to be made For such a guest is meet.

[Throws up another skull. Hamlet — There's another: why may not that be the skull of a lawyer? Where be his quiddities now, his quillets, his cases, his tenures, and his tricks ? why does he suffer this rude knave now to knock him about the sconce with a dirty shovel, and will not tell him of his action of battery? Hum! This fellow might be in's time a great buyer of land, with his statutes, his recognizances, his fines, his double vouchers, his recoveries : is this the fine of his fines, and the recovery of his recoveries, to have his fine pate full of fine dirt? will his vouchers vouch him no more of his purchases, and double ones too, than the length and breadth of a pair of indentures ? The very conveyances of his lands will hardly lie in this box; and must the inheritor himself have no more, ha?

Horatio Not a jot more, my lord.
Hamlet - Is not parchment made of sheepskins ?
Horatio - Ay, my lord, and of calfskins too.

Hamlet - They are sheep and calves which seek out assurance in that. I will speak to this fellow. – Whose grave's this, sirrah ? 1 Clown — Mine, sir. [Sings.]

0, a pit of clay for to be made

For such a guest is meet.
Hamlet — I think it be thine, indeed: for thou liest in't.

1 Clown You lie out on't, sir, and therefore 'tis not yours: for my part, I do not lie in't, and yet it is mine.

Hamlet - Thou dost lie in't, to be in't and say it is thine: 'tis for the dead, not for the quick; therefore thou liest.

1 Clown — 'Tis a quick lie, sir; 'twill away again, from me to you. Hamlet What man dost thou dig it for ? 1 Clown — For no man, sir. Hamlet What woman, then ? 1 Clown — For none, neither. Hamlet - Who is to be buried in't?

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