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Ros. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I an 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 gravell'd for lack of matter, you may take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers, lacking (God warn us!) matter, the cleanliest

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 law-shift is to kiss. yer'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.

Enter Orlando.

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 lisp, and wear strange suits; disable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I will scarce think you have swam in a gondola.—Why, how Orlando! where have you been all this while? You a lover?-An you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more.

now,

Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.

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 thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him, that Cupid hath clapp'd him o'the shoulder, but I warrant him heart-whole.

Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind.

Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight; I had as lief be woo'd of a snail! Orl. Of a snail?

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Orl. How if the kiss be denied?

Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.

Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?

Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress; or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.

Orl. What, of my suit?

Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind? Örl. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her.

Ros. Well, in her person, I say,—I will not have you.

The poor

Orl. Then in mine own person, I die. Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. 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 Hellespont, 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 me, Rosalind.

Ros. Yes, faith will I, Fridays and Saturdays, and all.

Orl. And wilt thou have me?
Ros. Ay, and twenty such.
Orl. What say'st thou?
Ros. Are you not good?
Orl. I hope so.

Ros. Why, then, can one desire too much of a
good thing?-Come, sister, you shall be the
priest, and marry us. -Give me your hand,
Orlando. What do you say, sister?
Orl. Pray thee, marry us.
Cel. I cannot say the words.
Ros. You must begin,-

Will you, Orlando.Cel. Go to;- -Will you, Orlando, have to

wife this Rosalind ?

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Orl. I will.

Ros. Ay, but when?

Orl. Why now; as fast as she can marry us. Ros. Then you must say, I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

Ros. I might ask you for your commission; but I de take thee, Orlando, for my husband: there a 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 cock-pigeon over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot against rain; more newfangled 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 hyen', and that when thou art inclined to sleep. Orl. But will my Rosalind do so? Ros. By my life, she will do as I do. Orl. O, but she is wise.

Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do his; 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 hath 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.

Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse that? 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.

Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.

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: Adieu! [exit Orlando.

Cel. You have simply misus'd our sex in your love prate: we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show 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 I am deep 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'llgo find a shadow, and sigh till he come. Cel. And I'll sleep. [exeunt.

SCENE II. ANOTHER PART OF THE FOREST.

Enter Jaques and Lords, in the habit of Foresters. Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer? 1 Lord. Sir, it was I.

Jaq. Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of victory :have you no song, forester, for this purpose? 2 Lord. Yes, sir.

Jaq. Sing it, 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it make noise enough.

Song.

1. What shall he have that kill'd the deer?

2. His leather skin and horns, to wear. 1. Then sing him home:

Take then no scorn, to wear the horus The rest shall

It was a crest ere thou wast born.

An.

1. Thy father's father wore it; bear this lur. 2. And thy father bore it.

iden

The horn, the horn, the lusty horn, Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.

SCENE III. THE FOREST.

Enter Rosalind and Celia.

[exeunt.

Ros. How say you now? Is it not past wo o'clock, and here much Orlando!

Cel. I warrant you, with pure love and troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and is Ros. Alas, dear love! I cannot lack thee two gone forth-to sleep:-look, who comes here? hours.

Orl. I must attend the duke at dinnor; 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 your's 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, I 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

Enter Silvius.

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Ros. Come, come, you are a fool,
And turn'd into the extremity of love.
I saw her hand: she has a leathern hand,
A free stone-colour'd hand; I verily did think
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands.
She has a housewife's hand; but that's no matter:
I say, she never did invent this letter;
This is a man's invention, and his hand.
Sil. Sure, it is her's.

Ros. Why 'tis a boisterous and cruel style,
A style for challengers: why, she defies me.
Like Turk to Christian. Woman's gentle brain
Could not drop forth such giant rude invention,
Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect [letter?
Than in their countenance:—will you hear the
Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet;
Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty.

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Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from
He left a promise to return again
[you,
Within an hour; and, pacing through the forest,
Chewing the cud of sweet and bitter fancy,
Lo, what befell; he threw his eye aside,
And, mark, what object did present itself!
Under an oak, whose boughs were moss'd with age,
And high top bald with dry antiquity,
A wretched, ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck

Ros. She Phebes me; mark how the tyrant A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself, writes.

Art thou god to shepherd turn'd!

Than 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,
That could do no vengeance to me-
Meaning me, a beast!—

If the scorn of your bright eyne
Have power to raise such love in mino
Alack, in me what strange effect
Would they work in mild aspect?
Whiles you chid me, I did love;
How then might your prayers move?
He, that brings this love to thee,
Little knows this love in me;
And by him seal up thy mind;
Whether that thy youth and kind
Will the faithful offer take
Of me, and all that I can make;
Or else by him my love deny,
And then I'll study how to die.
Sil. Call you this chiding?
Cel. Alas, poor shepherd!

Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd [reads. The opening of his mouth; but suddenly,

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
Where, in the purlicus of this forest-stands [know
A sheep-cote, fenc'd about with olive-trees?

Cel. West of this place, down in the neighbour
bottom,

The rank of osiers, by the murmuring stream
Left on your right hand, brings you to the place:
But at this hour the house doth keep itself;
There's none within.

Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
Then I should know you by description;
Such garments, and such years: the boy is fair,
Of female favour, and bestows himself
Like a ripe sister; but the woman low,
And browner than her brother. Are not you
The owner of the house I did inquire for?

Seeing Orlando, it unlink'd itself,
And with indented glides did slip away
Into a bush: under which bush's shade
A lioness, with udders all drawn dry,

Lay couching, head on ground, with catlike watch,
When that the sleeping man should stir; for 'tis
The royal disposition of that beast,

To prey on nothing, that doth seem as dead.
This seen, Orlando did approach the man,
And found it was his brother, his elder brother.
Cel. O, I have heard him speak of that same

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Cel. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill
Oli. 'Twas I; but 'tis not I. I do not shame
To tell you what I was, since my conversiou
So sweetly tastes, being the thing I am.

Ros. But, for the bloody napkin?

Oli. By and by.

When from the first to last, betwixt us two,
Tears our recountments had most kindly bath'd,
As, how I came into that desert place:
In brief, he led me to the gentle duke,
Who gave me fresh array and entertainment,
Committing me unto my brother's love;
Who led me instantly unto his cave,

There stripp'd himself, and here upon his arm
The lioness had torn some flesh away, [fainted
Wiich all this while had bled; and now be
And cry'd, in fainting, upon Rosalind.
Brief, I recover'd him; bound up his wound:
And, after some small space, being strong at heart,
He sent me hither, stranger as I am,

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To tell this story, that you might excuse
His broken promise, and to give this napkin,
Dy'd in his blood, unto the shepherd youth,
That he in sport doth call his Rosalind.

Cel. Why, how now, Ganymede ? sweet Gany-
mede?
[Rosalind faints.
Oli. Many will swoon, when they do look on

blood.

Cel. There is more in it :-Cousin-Ganymede!
Oli. Look, he recovers.

Ros. I would, I were at home.

Cel. We'll lead you thither:

You a man?

I pray you, will you take him by the arm?
Oli. Be of good cheer, youth.
You lack a man's heart.
Ros. I do so, I confess it. Ah, sir, a body
would think this was well counterfeited: I pray

SCENE I. THE SAME.

you
tell your
Heigh ho!-

brother how well I counterfeited.

Oli. This was not counterfeit; there is too great testimony in your complexion, that it was a passion of earnest.

Ros. Counterfeit, I assure you.

Oli. Well then, take a good heart, and counterfeit to be a man.

Ros. So I do: but, i'faith, I should have been a woman by right.

Cel. Come, you look paler and paler; pray you draw homewards: good sir, go with us.

Oli. That will I, for I must bear answer back How you excuse my brother, Rosalind.

Ros. I shall devise something: but, I pray you, commend my counterfeiting to him.-Will you go? [exeunt. ACT V.

Enter Touchstone and Audrey. Touch. We shall find a time, Audrey; patience, gentle Audrey.

Aud. Faith, the priest was good enough, for all the old gentleman's saying.

Touch. A most wicked sir Oliver, Audrey, a most vile Mar-text. But, Audrey, there is a youth here in the forest lays claim to you.

Aud. Ay, I know who 'tis ; he hath no interest in me, in the world: here comes the man you mean. Enter William.

Touch. It is meat and drink to me, to see a clown: by my troth, we, that have good wits, have much to answer for; we shall be flouting; we cannot hold.

Will. Good even, Audrey.

Aud. God ye good even, William.
Will. And good even to you, sir.
Touch. Good even, gentle friend: cover thy
head, cover thy head; nay pr'ythee, be covered.
How old are you, friend?

Will. Five and twenty, sir.

Touch. A ripe age: is thy name William?
Will. William, sir.

Touch. A fair name: wast born i'the forest here?
Will. Ay, sir, I thank God.

Touch. Thank God;—a good answer: art rich?
Will. Faith, sir, so, so,

Touch. So, so, is good, very good, very excellent
good:-and yet it is not; it is but so, so.
thou wise?

Art

Will. Ay, sir, I have a pretty wit. Touch. Why, thou say'st well. I do now remember a saying; The fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool. The heathen philosopher, when he had a desire to eat a grape, would open his lips when he put it into his mouth; meaning thereby, that grapes were made to eat, and lips to open.-You do love this maid?

do consent, that ipse is he: now you are not ipse, for I am he.

Will. Which he, sir?

Touch. He, sir, that must marry this woman: therefore, you clown, abandon,-which is in the vulgar, leave, the society,—which in the boorish is, company,—of this female,—which in the common is, woman, which together is, abandon the society of this female; or, clown, thou perishest; or to thy better understanding, diest; to wit, I kill thee, make thee away, translate thy life into death, thy liberty into bondage. I will deal in poison with thee, or in bastinado, or in steel: I will bandy with thee in faction; I will o'er-run thee with policy; I will kill thee a hundred and fifty ways; therefore tremble, and depart.

Aud. Do, good William.

Will. God rest you merry, sir.
Enter Corin.

[exit.

Cor. Our master and mistress seek you; come away, away.

Touch. Trip, Audrey; trip, Audrey;-I attend, I attend. [exeunt.

SCENE II. THE SAME.

Enter Orlando and Oliver. Orl. Is't possible, that on so little acquaintence you should like her? that, but seeing, you should love her? and, loving, woo? and wooing, she should grant? and will you perséver to enjoy her?

Oli. Neither call the giddiness of it in question, the poverty of her, the small acquaintance, my sudden wooing, nor her sudden consenting; but say with me, I love Aliena; say with her, that she loves me; consent with both, that we may enjoy each other: it shall be to your good, for my father's house, and all the revenue that was old. sir Rowland's, will I estate upon you, and her live and die a shepherd.

Enter Rosalind.

Orl. You have my consent. Let your wedding be to-morrow: thither will I invite the duke, and all his contented followers. Go you, and prepare Touch. Give me your hand: art thou learned? Aliena; for, look you, here comes my Rosalind. Will. No, sir.

Will. I do, sir.

Touch. Then learn this of me; to have, is to have; for it is a figure in rhetoric, that drink, -1 being poured out of a cup into a glass, by filling the one doth empty the other: for all your writers

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Ros. I thought thy heart had been wounded with the claws of a lion.

Orl. Wounded it is, but with the eyes of a lady. Pos. Did your brother tell you how I counterfeited to swoon, when he showed me your handkerchief?

Orl. Ay, and greater wonders than that. Ros. O, I know where you are.-) -Nay, 'tis true: there was never any thing so sudden, but the fight of two rams, and Cæsar's thrasonical brag of-I came, saw, and overcame; for your brother and my sister no sooner met, but they looked; no sooner looked, but they loved; no sooner loved, but they sighed; no sooner sighed, but they asked one another the reason; no sooner knew the reason, but they sought the remedy: and in these degrees have they made a pair of stairs to marriage, which they will climb incontinent, or else be incontinent before marriage: they are in the very wrath of love, and they will together: clubs cannot part them.

Orl. They shall be married to-morrow; and I will bid the duke to the nuptials. But, O, how bitter a thing it is to look into happiness through another man's eyes! By so much the more shall I to-morrow be at the height of heart-heaviness, by how much I shall think my brother happy, in having what he wishes for.

Ros. Why then, to-morrow I cannot serve your turn for Rosalind?

Orl. I can live no longer by thinking. Ros. I will weary you no longer then with idle talking. Know of me then (for now I speak to some purpose), that I know you are a gentleman of good conceit: I speak not this, that you should bear a good opinion of my knowledge, insomuch, I say, I know you are; neither do I labour for a greater esteem than may in some little measure draw a belief from you, to do yourself good, and not to grace me. Believe then, if you please, that I can do strange things: I have, since I was three years old, conversed with a magician, most profound in his art, and yet not damnable. If you

do love Rosalind so near the heart as your gesture cries it out, when your brother marries Aliena, shall you marry her? I know into what straights of fortune she is driven; and it is not impossible to me, if it appear not inconvenient to you, to set her before your eyes to-morrow, human as she is, and without any danger.

Orl. Speakest thon in sober meanings? Ros. By my life, I do; which I tender dearly, though I say I am a magician: therefore put you in your best array, bid your friends; for, if you will be married to-morrow you shall; and to Rosalind, if you will.

Enter Silvius and Phebe. Look, here comes a lover of mine, and a lover of hers. Phe. Youth, you have done me much ungenTo show the letter that I writ to you. [tleness, Ros. I care not if I have: it is my study, To seem despiteful and ungentle to you: You are there follow'd by a faithful shepherd; Look upon him, love him; he worships you. Phe. Good shepherd, tell this youth what 'tis to love.

Sil. It is to be all made of sighs and tears:Ard so am I for Phebe

Phe. And I for Ganymede. Orl. And I for Rosalind. Ros. And I for no woman.

Sil. It is to be all made of faith and service; And so am I for Phebe.

Phe. And I for Ganymede.

Orl. And I for Rosalind.

Ros. And I for no woman.

Sil. It is to be all made of phantasy,
All made of passion, and all made of wishes;
All adoration, duty, and observance,
All humbleness, all patience, and impatience,
All purity, all trial, all observance ;-
And so am I for Phebe.

Phe. And so am I for Ganymede. Orl. And so am I for Rosalind. Ros. And so am I for no woman. Phe. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? [to Rosalind. Sil. If this be so, why blame you me to love you? [to Phebe. Orl. If this beso, why blame you me to love you Ros. Who do you speak to? Why blame you me to love you?.

Orl. To her, that is not here, nor doth not hear? Ros. Pray you, no more of this: 'tis like the howling of Irish wolves against the moon.-I will help you, [to Silvius] if I can:-I would love you, [to Phebe] if I could.-To-morrow meet me altogether.--I will marry you [to Phebe} if ever I marry woman, and I'll be married tomorrow:--I will satisfy you, [to Orlando] if ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married to-mor row:-I will content you, [to Silvius] if what pleases you contents you, and you shall be married to-morrow.-As you [to Orlando] love Rosalind, meet-as you [to Silvius] love Phebe, meet; and as I love no woman, I'll meet. -So fare you well; I have left you commands.

Sil. I'll not fail, if I live.
Phe. Nor I.
Orl. Nor I.

SCENE III. THE SAME.

[exeunt.

Enter Touchstone and Audrey. Touch. To-morrow is the joyful day, Audrey; to-morrow will we be married.

Aud. I do desire it with all my heart; and I hope it is no dishonest desire, to desire to be a woman of the world. Here comes two of the banished duke's pages. Enter Two Pages.

1 Page. Well met, honest gentleman. Touch. By my troth, well met: come, sit, sit, and a song.

2 Page. We are for you: sit Pthe middle.

1 Page. Shall we clap into't roundly, without hawking or spitting, or saying we are hoarse; which are the only prologues to a bad voice? 2 Page. I'faith, i'faith; and both in a tune like two gipsies on a horse. Song.

It was a lover, and his lass,

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino; That o'er the green corn-field did pass,

In the spring time, the only pretty rank time, When birds do sing, hey ding a ding, ding, Sweet lovers love the spring. Between the acres of the rye,

With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonine. These pretty country folks would lie

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