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none at all. I pr’ythee, take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings.

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 send more, if the man will be thankful ; let me stay 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 instant.

Ros. Nay, buț the devil take mocking; speak, sad brow, and true maid.

Cel. l'faith, coz, 'tis he.
Rof. Orlando !
Cel. Orlando.

Rof. Alas the day, what shall I do with my doublet and hofe? what did he, when thou saw'st him ? what said he? how look'd he ? wherein went he? what makes he here? did he ask for me? where remains he? how parted be with thee? and when shalt thou see him again? answer me in one word,

Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's mouth first; 'ris a word too great for any mouth of this age's size: to say, ay, and no, to these particulars, is more than to answer in a catechism,

Ros, But doch 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 easie to count atoms, as to resolve the propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good observance, I found him under a tree like a dropp'd acorn.

Rof. It may well be call?d Jave's tree, when it drops forth such fruit.

Cel. Give me audience, good Madam.
Rof. Proceed.

. There lay he stretch'd along like a wounded Knight.

Rof. Tho' it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground.



Cel. Cry, holla! to thy tongue, I proythee; it cur. vets unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter.

Rof. O ominous, he comes to kill my heart.

Cel. I would sing my song without a burthen; thou bring'st me out of tune.

Rof. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak: Sweet, say on.

Enter Orlando and Jaques. Cel. You bring me out. Soft, comes he not here? Rof. 'Tis he, flink by, and note him.

[Cel. and Rof. retire. Jaq. I thank you for your company ; but, good faith, I had as lief have been my self alone.

Orla. And so had I ; but yet for fathion fake, I thank you too for your society,

Faq. God b'w' you, let's meet as little as we can. Orla. I do desire we may be better ftrangers.

Jag. I pray you, marr no more trees with writing love-songs in their barks.

Orla. (17) I pray you, marr no more of my Verses with reading them ill-favouredly.

Faq. Rosalind, is your love's name?
Oria. Yes, just.
Faq. I do not like her name.

Oria. There was no thought of pleasing you, when she was chriften'd.

Jaq. What stature is the of?
Orla. Just as high as my heart.

Faq. You are full of pretty answers; have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths wives, and conn'd them out of rings?

Orla. Not so: (18) but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your questions.

Jaq. (17) I pray You, marr no more of my Perfes with reading them ill-favouredly.) The Poet seems to have had in his Eye this Diftich of Martial; Lib. I. Epigr. 39.

Quem recitas, meus eft, o Fidentine, libellus;

Sed malè dum recitas, incipit elle tuus. (18) But I answer you right painted Cloth.) This alludes to the Falhion, in old Tapestry Hangings of Motto's and moral Sentences from


found you.

Jaq. You have a nimble wit ; I think, it was made of Atalanta's hecls. Will you fit down with me, and we two will rail againft our mistress, the world, and all our misery.

Orla. I will chide no breather in the world but my self,. against whom I know most faults.

Faq. The worst fault you have, is to be in love.

Orla. 'Tis a fault 1 will not change for your best virtue; I am I am weary


you. Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool, when I

Orla. He is drown'd in the brook; look but in, and you shall see him.

Faq. There I shall see mine own figure.
Orla. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cypher,

Jaq. I'll stay no longer with you ; farewel, good
Signior love!

[Exit. Orla. I am glad of your departure ; adieu, good Monsieur melancholy! [Cel. and Ros, come forward,

Rof. I will speak to him like a fawcy lacquey, and under that habit play the knave with him ; do you hear, forester?

Orla. Very well, what would you?
Rof. I pray you, what is't a clock?

Orla. You should ask me, what time o' day; there's no clock in the Forest.

Rof. Then there is no true lover in the Forests else, fighing every minute, and groaning every hour, would detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock.

Orlı. And why not the swift foot of time? had not that been as proper ?

Rof: By no means, Sir: time travels in divers pa. ces, with divers persons ; I'll tell you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he stands ftill withal?

Orla. I pr’ythee, whom doth he trot withal?
the Mouths of the Figures work'd or painted in them. The Poet again
hints at this Custom in his Poem, callid, Tarquin and Lucrece ;

Who fears a Sentence, or an Old Man's Saw,
Shall by a painted Cloth be kept in Awe.



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Rof. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, between the contract of her marriage, and the day it is solemniz'd : if the interim be but a fennight, time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven years.

Orla. Who anibles time withal ?

Rof. With a priest that lacks Latine, and a rich man that hath not the gout; for the one sleeps easily, because he cannot study; and the other lives merrily, because he feels no pain: the one lacking the burthen of lean and wasteful learning; the other knowing no burthen of heavy tedious penury. These time ambles withal.

Orla. Whom doth he gallop withal?

Rof. With a thief to the gallows : for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there,

Orla. Whom stays it still withal?

Rof. With lawyers in the vacation ; for they sleep between term and term, and then they perceive not how time moves.

Orla. Where dwell you, pretty youth?

Rof. With this shepherdeis, my sister ; here in the skirts of the foreft, like fringe upon a petticoat.

Orla. Are you native of this place?

Rof. As the cony, that you see dwell where she is kindled.

Orla. Your accent is something finer, than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling.

Ref. 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; 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 fex withal.

Orla. 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.



' Orla. I pr’ythee, recount some of them.

Rof. No; I will not caft away my physick, but on those that are fick. 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.

Orla. I am he, that is so love-shak'd ; 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 prisoner.

Orla. What were his marks?

Rof. 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 negleěted, which you have not ; but I pardon you for that, for fimply 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 shoo untied, and everything about you demonstrating a careless desolation, but you are no such man, you are rather point-device in your accoutrements, as loving your self, than seeming the lover of any other.

Orla. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.

Rof. 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 footh, are you he that hangs the Verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired?

Orla. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am That he, that unfortunate he.

Rof. But are you so much in love, as your rhimes speak?

Orla. Neither rhime nor reason can express how much.

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