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to wooe me.

Ros. Love is meerly a madness, and, I tell you, dcferves as weli a dark house and a whip, as mad men do: and the reafon why they are not so punish'd and cured, is, that the lunacy is fo ordinary, that the whippers are in love too : yet I profess curing it by counsel.

Orla. Did you ever cure any so?

Ros. Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to ima gine me his love, his mistress: and I fet him every day

At which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking; proud, fantaftical, apish, shallow, inconftant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every pafsion 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 fuitor from his mad humour of love, to a living humour of madnefs; which was, to forswear the full Itream of the world, and to live in a nook meerly monastick ; and thus I cur'd him, and this way will I cake upon me to wash your liver as clear as a found sheep's heart, that there shall not be one fpot of love in'r.

Orla. I would not be cur'd, youth.

Rof. I would cure you if you would but call me RoSalind, and come every day to my corre, and wooe me. Orla. Now, by the faith of my love, I will j

tell me where it is.

Rof. Go with me to it, and I will shew it you; and, by the way, you shall tell me where in the Forest you live: will you go?

Orla. With all my heart, good youth. Rof. Nay, nay, you muft call me Rosalind : come, Gister, will you go?

[Exeunt. Enter Clown, Audrey and Jaques. Clo. Come apace, good Audrey, I will fetch up your goats, Audrey; and now, Audrey, am I the man yet? doth my simple feature content you? Aud. Your features, lord warrant us; what features ?


Clo. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet honest Ovid was among the Goths.

Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a thatch'd house!

Clo. 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?

Clo. 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 ?

Clo. I do, truly ; for thou swear'it 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 ?

Clo. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd; for honesty coupled to beauty, is, to have honey a fawce to sugar.

Jaq. A material fool!

Aud. Well, I am not fair ; and therefore I pray the Gods make me honest!

Clo. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a fout slut, were to put good meat into an unclean dish.

Aud. I am not a flut, though I thank the Gods I am foul.

Clo. 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 promis'd to meet me in this place of the forest, and to couple us.

Jaq. I would fain see this meeting.
Aúd. Well, the Gods give us joy.


Clo. 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 horn-beasts. But what tho'? 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 fo 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 a batchelor; and by how much defence is better than no skill, 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 dispatch us here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your Chappel?

Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman?
Clo. I will not take her on gift of any man.

Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.

Jaq. Proceed, proceed ! I'll give her.
Clo. Good even, good master

what ye call : how do you, Sir? you are very well met: God'ild


your last company, I am very glad to see you ; even a toy in hand here, Sir: nay; pray, be covered.

Jaq. Will you be married, Motley ?

Clo. As the ox hath his bow, Sir, the horse his curb, and the faulcon his bells, so man hath his desire; and as pidgeons bill, so wedlock would be nibling.

Faq. 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 marriage is ; this fellow will but join you together, as they join wainscot; then one of you will prove a frunk' pannel, and like green timber, warp, warp.


you what

Cio. I am not in the mind, but I were better to be married of him than of another; for he is not like to marry me well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife. Jaq. Go chou with me, and let me counsel thee.

Člo. Come, sweet Audrey, we muft be married, or we must live in bawdry : farewell, good Mr. Oliver ; not o sweet Oliver, O brave Oliver, leave me not behind thee: but wind away, begone Í say, I will not to wedding with thee.

Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter ; ne'er a fantastical knave of them all shall flout me out of my Calling. [Exeunt.

SCENE changes to a Cottage in the Forest,

Enter Rosalind and Celia.

Ever talk to me, I will weep.

Cel. Do, I priythee; but yet have the grace to consider, that tears do not become a man.

Rof. But have I not cause to weep?

Cel. As good cause as one would defire, therefore weep.

Rof. His very hair is of the dissembling colour.

Cel. Something browner than Judas's : marry, his kisses are Judas's own children.

Ros. I'faith, his hair is of a good colour.

Cel. An excellent colour : your chesnut was ever the only colour.

Rof. (19) And his kissing is as full of sanctity, as the touch of holy Beard.

(19) And his kifing is as full of Sanctity, as the Touch of holy Bread.] Tho this be the Reading of the oldest Copies, I have made no Scruple to fabstitute an Emendation of Mr. Warburton, which mightily adds to the Propriety of the Similie. What can the Poet be suppos'd to mean by holy Bread ? Not the Sacramental, fure; that would have been Prophanation, upon a Subject of so much Levity. But holy Beard very beautifully alludes to the Kiss of a holy Saint, which the Antients call'd the Kiss of Charity. And for Rosalind to say, that Orlando kiss'd as holily as a Saint, renders the Comparison very just.


Cel. (20) He hath bought a pair of caft lips of Diana; a nun of Winter's Gisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.

Roj. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not?

Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
Ros. Do you think so?

Cel. Yess 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-eaten put. Ros. Not true in love? Cel. Yes, when he is in; but, I think, he is not in. Rof. You have heard him swear downright, he was.

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. Rof. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much

qucftion with him : he askt 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 travers athwart the heart of his lover; as a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse buť one

(20) He hath bought a pair of chast Lips of Diana; a Nun of Wirter's Sisterhood kifes not more religiously; the very Ice of Chastity is in them] This Pair of chaft Lips is a Corruption as old as the second Edition in Folio ; I have reitor'd with the first Folio, a Pair of caft Lips, i.e. a Pair left off by Diana.. Again, what Idea does a Nun of Winter's Sisterhood give us ? Tho' I have not ventur'd to disturb the Text, it seems more probable to me that the Poet wrote ;

A Nun of Winifred's Sisterhood, &c. Not, indeed, that there was any real religious Order of that Denomination: but the Legend of St. Winifred is this. She was a Christian Virgin at Holywell & small Town in Flintshire, fo tenacious of her Chastity, that when a tyrannous Governour laid Siege to her, he could not reduce her to Compliance, but was oblig'd to ravish, and afterwards beheaded her in Revenge of her Obstinacy. Vid. Cambden's Britannia by Dr. Gibfon. p. 688. This Tradition forts very well with our Poet's Allufion.

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