Chapter XXII: Part 22

Orl. Oh good old man, how well in thee appeares The constant seruice of the antique world, When seruice sweate for dutie, not for meede: Thou art not for the fashion of these times, Where none will sweate, but for promotion, And hauing that do choake their seruice vp, Euen with the hauing, it is not so with thee: But poore old man, thou prun'st a rotten tree, That cannot so much as a blossome yeelde, In lieu of all thy paines and husbandrie, But come thy waies, weele goe along together, And ere we haue thy youthfull wages spent, Weele light vpon some setled low content

Ad. Master goe on, and I will follow thee To the last gaspe with truth and loyaltie, From seauentie yeeres, till now almost fourescore Here liued I, but now liue here no more At seauenteene yeeres, many their fortunes seeke But at fourescore, it is too late a weeke, Yet fortune cannot recompence me better Then to die well, and not my Masters debter.

Exeunt.

Scena Quarta.

Enter Rosaline for Ganimed, Celia for Aliena, and Clowne, alias Touchstone.

Ros. O Iupiter, how merry are my spirits?
Clo. I care not for my spirits, if my legges were not
wearie

Ros. I could finde in my heart to disgrace my mans apparell, and to cry like a woman: but I must comfort the weaker vessell, as doublet and hose ought to show it selfe coragious to petty-coate; therefore courage, good Aliena

Cel. I pray you beare with me, I cannot goe no further

Clo. For my part, I had rather beare with you, then beare you: yet I should beare no crosse if I did beare you, for I thinke you haue no money in your purse

Ros. Well, this is the Forrest of Arden

Clo. I, now am I in Arden, the more foole I, when I was at home I was in a better place, but Trauellers must be content. Enter Corin and Siluius.

Ros. I, be so good Touchstone: Look you, who comes
here, a yong man and an old in solemne talke

Cor. That is the way to make her scorne you still

Sil. Oh Corin, that thou knew'st how I do loue her

Cor. I partly guesse: for I haue lou'd ere now

Sil. No Corin, being old, thou canst not guesse, Though in thy youth thou wast as true a louer As euer sigh'd vpon a midnight pillow: But if thy loue were euer like to mine, As sure I thinke did neuer man loue so: How many actions most ridiculous, Hast thou beene drawne to by thy fantasie? Cor. Into a thousand that I haue forgotten

Sil. Oh thou didst then neuer loue so hartily, If thou remembrest not the slightest folly, That euer loue did make thee run into, Thou hast not lou'd. Or if thou hast not sat as I doe now, Wearing thy hearer in thy Mistris praise, Thou hast not lou'd. Or if thou hast not broke from companie, Abruptly as my passion now makes me, Thou hast not lou'd. O Phebe, Phebe, Phebe. Enter.

Ros. Alas poore Shepheard searching of they would,
I haue by hard aduenture found mine owne

Clo. And I mine: I remember when I was in loue, I broke my sword vpon a stone, and bid him take that for comming a night to Iane Smile, and I remember the kissing of her batler, and the Cowes dugs that her prettie chopt hands had milk'd; and I remember the wooing of a peascod instead of her, from whom I tooke two cods, and giuing her them againe, said with weeping teares, weare these for my sake: wee that are true Louers, runne into strange capers; but as all is mortall in nature, so is all nature in loue, mortall in folly

Ros. Thou speak'st wiser then thou art ware of

Clo. Nay, I shall nere be ware of mine owne wit, till
I breake my shins against it

Ros. Ioue, Ioue, this Shepherds passion,
Is much vpon my fashion

Clo. And mine, but it growes something stale with
mee

Cel. I pray you, one of you question yon'd man, If he for gold will giue vs any foode, I faint almost to death

Clo. Holla; you Clowne

Ros. Peace foole, he's not thy kinsman

Cor. Who cals?
Clo. Your betters Sir

Cor. Else are they very wretched

Ros. Peace I say; good euen to your friend

Cor. And to you gentle Sir, and to you all

Ros. I prethee Shepheard, if that loue or gold Can in this desert place buy entertainment, Bring vs where we may rest our selues, and feed: Here's a yong maid with trauaile much oppressed, And faints for succour

Cor. Faire Sir, I pittie her, And wish for her sake more then for mine owne, My fortunes were more able to releeue her: But I am shepheard to another man, And do not sheere the Fleeces that I graze: My master is of churlish disposition, And little wreakes to finde the way to heauen By doing deeds of hospitalitie. Besides his Coate, his Flockes, and bounds of feede Are now on sale, and at our sheep-coat now By reason of his absence there is nothing That you will feed on: but what is, come see, And in my voice most welcome shall you be

Ros. What is he that shall buy his flocke and pasture?
Cor. That yong Swaine that you saw heere but erewhile,
That little cares for buying any thing

Ros. I pray thee, if it stand with honestie, Buy thou the Cottage, pasture, and the flocke, And thou shalt haue to pay for it of vs

Cel. And we will mend thy wages: I like this place, and willingly could Waste my time in it

Cor. Assuredly the thing is to be sold: Go with me, if you like vpon report, The soile, the profit, and this kinde of life, I will your very faithfull Feeder be, And buy it with your Gold right sodainly.

Exeunt.

Scena Quinta.

Enter, Amyens, Iaques, & others.

Song.

Vnder the greene wood tree, who loues to lye with mee, And turne his merrie Note, vnto the sweet Birds throte: Come hither, come hither, come hither: Heere shall he see no enemie, But Winter and rough Weather

Iaq. More, more, I pre'thee more

Amy. It will make you melancholly Monsieur Iaques
Iaq. I thanke it: More, I prethee more,
I can sucke melancholly out of a song,
As a Weazel suckes egges: More, I pre'thee more

Amy. My voice is ragged, I know I cannot please
you

Iaq. I do not desire you to please me,
I do desire you to sing:
Come, more, another stanzo: Cal you 'em stanzo's?
Amy. What you wil Monsieur Iaques

Iaq. Nay, I care not for their names, they owe mee
nothing. Wil you sing?
Amy. More at your request, then to please my selfe

Iaq. Well then, if euer I thanke any man, Ile thanke you: but that they cal complement is like th' encounter of two dog-Apes. And when a man thankes me hartily, me thinkes I haue giuen him a penie, and he renders me the beggerly thankes. Come sing; and you that wil not hold your tongues

Amy. Wel, Ile end the song. Sirs, couer the while, the Duke wil drinke vnder this tree; he hath bin all this day to looke you

Iaq. And I haue bin all this day to auoid him: He is too disputeable for my companie: I thinke of as many matters as he, but I giue Heauen thankes, and make no boast of them. Come, warble, come.

Song. Altogether heere.

Who doth ambition shunne, and loues to liue i'th Sunne: Seeking the food he eates, and pleas'd with what he gets: Come hither, come hither, come hither, Heere shall he see. &c

Iaq. Ile giue you a verse to this note,
That I made yesterday in despight of my Inuention

Amy. And Ile sing it

Amy. Thus it goes. If it do come to passe, that any man turne Asse: Leauing his wealth and ease, A stubborne will to please, Ducdame, ducdame, ducdame: Heere shall he see, grosse fooles as he, And if he will come to me

Amy. What's that Ducdame?
Iaq. 'Tis a Greeke inuocation, to call fools into a circle.
Ile go sleepe if I can: if I cannot, Ile raile against all
the first borne of Egypt

Amy. And Ile go seeke the Duke,
His banket is prepar'd.

Exeunt.

Scena Sexta.

Enter Orlando, & Adam

Adam. Deere Master, I can go no further: O I die for food. Heere lie I downe, And measure out my graue. Farwel kinde master

Orl. Why how now Adam? No greater heart in thee: Liue a little, comfort a little, cheere thy selfe a little. If this vncouth Forrest yeeld any thing sauage, I wil either be food for it, or bring it for foode to thee: Thy conceite is neerer death, then thy powers. For my sake be comfortable, hold death a while At the armes end: I wil heere be with thee presently, And if I bring thee not something to eate, I wil giue thee leaue to die: but if thou diest Before I come, thou art a mocker of my labor. Wel said, thou look'st cheerely, And Ile be with thee quickly: yet thou liest In the bleake aire. Come, I wil beare thee To some shelter, and thou shalt not die For lacke of a dinner, If there liue any thing in this Desert. Cheerely good Adam.

Exeunt.

Scena Septima.

Enter Duke Sen. & Lord, like Out-lawes.

Du.Sen. I thinke he be transform'd into a beast,
For I can no where finde him, like a man

1.Lord. My Lord, he is but euen now gone hence,
Heere was he merry, hearing of a Song

Du.Sen. If he compact of iarres, grow Musicall, We shall haue shortly discord in the Spheares: Go seeke him, tell him I would speake with him. Enter Iaques.

1.Lord. He saues my labor by his owne approach

Du.Sen. Why how now Monsieur, what a life is this That your poore friends must woe your companie, What, you looke merrily

Iaq. A Foole, a foole: I met a foole i'th Forrest, A motley Foole (a miserable world:) As I do liue by foode, I met a foole, Who laid him downe, and bask'd him in the Sun, And rail'd on Lady Fortune in good termes, In good set termes, and yet a motley foole. Good morrow foole (quoth I:) no Sir, quoth he, Call me not foole, till heauen hath sent me fortune, And then he drew a diall from his poake, And looking on it, with lacke-lustre eye, Sayes, very wisely, it is ten a clocke: Thus we may see (quoth he) how the world wagges: 'Tis but an houre agoe, since it was nine, And after one houre more, 'twill be eleuen, And so from houre to houre, we ripe, and ripe, And then from houre to houre, we rot, and rot, And thereby hangs a tale. When I did heare The motley Foole, thus morall on the time, My Lungs began to crow like Chanticleere, That Fooles should be so deepe contemplatiue: And I did laugh, sans intermission An houre by his diall. Oh noble foole, A worthy foole: Motley's the onely weare

Du.Sen. What foole is this? Iaq. O worthie Foole: One that hath bin a Courtier And sayes, if Ladies be but yong, and faire, They haue the gift to know it: and in his braine, Which is as drie as the remainder bisket After a voyage: He hath strange places cram'd With obseruation, the which he vents In mangled formes. O that I were a foole, I am ambitious for a motley coat

Du.Sen. Thou shalt haue one

Iaq. It is my onely suite, Prouided that you weed your better iudgements Of all opinion that growes ranke in them, That I am wise. I must haue liberty Withall, as large a Charter as the winde, To blow on whom I please, for so fooles haue: And they that are most gauled with my folly, They most must laugh: And why sir must they so? The why is plaine, as way to Parish Church: Hee, that a Foole doth very wisely hit, Doth very foolishly, although he smart Seeme senselesse of the bob. If not, The Wise-mans folly is anathomiz'd Euen by the squandring glances of the foole. Inuest me in my motley: Giue me leaue To speake my minde, and I will through and through Cleanse the foule bodie of th' infected world, If they will patiently receiue my medicine

Du.Sen. Fie on thee. I can tell what thou wouldst do

Iaq. What, for a Counter, would I do, but good? Du.Sen. Most mischeeuous foule sin, in chiding sin: For thou thy selfe hast bene a Libertine, As sensuall as the brutish sting it selfe, And all th' imbossed sores, and headed euils, That thou with license of free foot hast caught, Would'st thou disgorge into the generall world

Iaq. Why who cries out on pride, That can therein taxe any priuate party: Doth it not flow as hugely as the Sea, Till that the wearie verie meanes do ebbe. What woman in the Citie do I name, When that I say the City woman beares The cost of Princes on vnworthy shoulders? Who can come in, and say that I meane her, When such a one as shee, such is her neighbor? Or what is he of basest function, That sayes his brauerie is not on my cost, Thinking that I meane him, but therein suites His folly to the mettle of my speech, There then, how then, what then, let me see wherein My tongue hath wrong'd him: if it do him right, Then he hath wrong'd himselfe: if he be free, Why then my taxing like a wild-goose flies Vnclaim'd of any man. But who come here? Enter Orlando.

Orl. Forbeare, and eate no more

Iaq. Why I haue eate none yet

Orl. Nor shalt not, till necessity be seru'd

Iaq. Of what kinde should this Cocke come of? Du.Sen. Art thou thus bolden'd man by thy distres? Or else a rude despiser of good manners, That in ciuility thou seem'st so emptie? Orl. You touch'd my veine at first, the thorny point Of bare distresse, hath tane from me the shew Of smooth ciuility: yet am I in-land bred, And know some nourture: But forbeare, I say, He dies that touches any of this fruite, Till I, and my affaires are answered

Iaq. And you will not be answer'd with reason,
I must dye

Du.Sen. What would you haue? Your gentlenesse shall force, more then your force Moue vs to gentlenesse

Orl. I almost die for food, and let me haue it

Du.Sen. Sit downe and feed, & welcom to our table Orl. Speake you so gently? Pardon me I pray you, I thought that all things had bin sauage heere, And therefore put I on the countenance Of sterne command'ment. But what ere you are That in this desert inaccessible, Vnder the shade of melancholly boughes, Loose, and neglect the creeping houres of time: If euer you haue look'd on better dayes: If euer beene where bels haue knoll'd to Church: If euer sate at any good mans feast: If euer from your eye-lids wip'd a teare, And know what 'tis to pittie, and be pittied: Let gentlenesse my strong enforcement be, In the which hope, I blush, and hide my Sword

Du.Sen. True is it, that we haue seene better dayes, And haue with holy bell bin knowld to Church, And sat at good mens feasts, and wip'd our eies Of drops, that sacred pity hath engendred: And therefore sit you downe in gentlenesse, And take vpon command, what helpe we haue That to your wanting may be ministred

Orl. Then but forbeare your food a little while: Whiles (like a Doe) I go to finde my Fawne, And giue it food. There is an old poore man, Who after me, hath many a weary steppe Limpt in pure loue: till he be first suffic'd, Opprest with two weake euils, age, and hunger, I will not touch a bit

Duke Sen. Go finde him out,
And we will nothing waste till you returne

Orl. I thanke ye, and be blest for your good comfort

Du.Sen. Thou seest, we are not all alone vnhappie: This wide and vniuersall Theater Presents more wofull Pageants then the Sceane Wherein we play in

Ia. All the world's a stage, And all the men and women, meerely Players; They haue their Exits and their Entrances, And one man in his time playes many parts, His Acts being seuen ages. At first the Infant, Mewling, and puking in the Nurses armes: Then, the whining Schoole-boy with his Satchell And shining morning face, creeping like snaile Vnwillingly to schoole. And then the Louer, Sighing like Furnace, with a wofull ballad Made to his Mistresse eye-brow. Then, a Soldier, Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the Pard, Ielous in honor, sodaine, and quicke in quarrell, Seeking the bubble Reputation Euen in the Canons mouth: And then, the Iustice In faire round belly, with good Capon lin'd, With eyes seuere, and beard of formall cut, Full of wise sawes, and moderne instances, And so he playes his part. The sixt age shifts Into the leane and slipper'd Pantaloone, With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side, His youthfull hose well sau'd, a world too wide, For his shrunke shanke, and his bigge manly voice, Turning againe toward childish trebble pipes, And whistles in his sound. Last Scene of all, That ends this strange euentfull historie, Is second childishnesse, and meere obliuion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans euery thing. Enter Orlando with Adam.

Du.Sen. Welcome: set downe your venerable burthen,
and let him feede

Orl. I thanke you most for him

Ad. So had you neede,
I scarce can speake to thanke you for my selfe

Du.Sen. Welcome, fall too: I wil not trouble you, As yet to question you about your fortunes: Giue vs some Musicke, and good Cozen, sing.

Song.

Blow, blow, thou winter winde, Thou art not so vnkinde, as mans ingratitude Thy tooth is not so keene, because thou art not seene, although thy breath be rude. Heigh ho, sing heigh ho, vnto the greene holly, Most frendship, is fayning; most Louing, meere folly: The heigh ho, the holly, This Life is most iolly. Freize, freize, thou bitter skie that dost not bight so nigh as benefitts forgot: Though thou the waters warpe, thy sting is not so sharpe, as freind remembred not. Heigh ho, sing, &c

Duke Sen. If that you were the good Sir Rowlands son, As you haue whisper'd faithfully you were, And as mine eye doth his effigies witnesse, Most truly limn'd, and liuing in your face, Be truly welcome hither: I am the Duke That lou'd your Father, the residue of your fortune, Go to my Caue, and tell mee. Good old man, Thou art right welcome, as thy masters is: Support him by the arme: giue me your hand, And let me all your fortunes vnderstand.

Exeunt.

Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.

Enter Duke, Lords, & Oliuer.

Du. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be: But were I not the better part made mercie, I should not seeke an absent argument Of my reuenge, thou present: but looke to it, Finde out thy brother wheresoere he is, Seeke him with Candle: bring him dead, or liuing Within this tweluemonth, or turne thou no more To seeke a liuing in our Territorie. Thy Lands and all things that thou dost call thine, Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands, Till thou canst quit thee by thy brothers mouth, Of what we thinke against thee

Ol. Oh that your Highnesse knew my heart in this:
I neuer lou'd my brother in my life

Duke. More villaine thou. Well push him out of dores And let my officers of such a nature Make an extent vpon his house and Lands: Do this expediently, and turne him going.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Orlando.

Orl. Hang there my verse, in witnesse of my loue, And thou thrice crowned Queene of night suruey With thy chaste eye, from thy pale spheare aboue Thy Huntresse name, that my full life doth sway. O Rosalind, these Trees shall be my Bookes, And in their barkes my thoughts Ile charracter, That euerie eye, which in this Forrest lookes, Shall see thy vertue witnest euery where. Run, run Orlando, carue on euery Tree, The faire, the chaste, and vnexpressiue shee.

Exit

Enter Corin & Clowne.

Co. And how like you this shepherds life Mr Touchstone? Clow. Truely Shepheard, in respect of it selfe, it is a good life; but in respect that it is a shepheards life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it verie well: but in respect that it is priuate, it is a very vild life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth mee well: but in respect it is not in the Court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life (looke you) it fits my humor well: but as there is no more plentie in it, it goes much against my stomacke. Has't any Philosophie in thee shepheard? Cor. No more, but that I know the more one sickens, the worse at ease he is: and that hee that wants money, meanes, and content, is without three good frends. That the propertie of raine is to wet, and fire to burne: That good pasture makes fat sheepe: and that a great cause of the night, is lacke of the Sunne: That hee that hath learned no wit by Nature, nor Art, may complaine of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred

Clo. Such a one is a naturall Philosopher:
Was't euer in Court, Shepheard?
Cor. No truly

Clo. Then thou art damn'd

Cor. Nay, I hope

Clo. Truly thou art damn'd, like an ill roasted Egge,
all on one side

Cor. For not being at Court? your reason

Clo. Why, if thou neuer was't at Court, thou neuer saw'st good manners: if thou neuer saw'st good maners, then thy manners must be wicked, and wickednes is sin, and sinne is damnation: Thou art in a parlous state shepheard

Cor. Not a whit Touchstone, those that are good maners at the Court, are as ridiculous in the Countrey, as the behauiour of the Countrie is most mockeable at the Court. You told me, you salute not at the Court, but you kisse your hands; that courtesie would be vncleanlie if Courtiers were shepheards

Clo. Instance, briefly: come, instance

Cor. Why we are still handling our Ewes, and their
Fels you know are greasie

Clo. Why do not your Courtiers hands sweate? and is not the grease of a Mutton, as wholesome as the sweat of a man? Shallow, shallow: A better instance I say: Come

Cor. Besides, our hands are hard

Clo. Your lips wil feele them the sooner. Shallow agen:
a more sounder instance, come

Cor. And they are often tarr'd ouer, with the surgery of our sheepe: and would you haue vs kisse Tarre? The Courtiers hands are perfum'd with Ciuet

Clo. Most shallow man: Thou wormes meate in respect of a good peece of flesh indeed: learne of the wise and perpend: Ciuet is of a baser birth then Tarre, the verie vncleanly fluxe of a Cat. Mend the instance Shepheard

Cor. You haue too Courtly a wit, for me, Ile rest

Clo. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God helpe thee shallow
man: God make incision in thee, thou art raw

Cor. Sir, I am a true Labourer, I earne that I eate: get that I weare; owe no man hate, enuie no mans happinesse: glad of other mens good content with my harme: and the greatest of my pride, is to see my Ewes graze, & my Lambes sucke

Clo. That is another simple sinne in you, to bring the Ewes and the Rammes together, and to offer to get your liuing, by the copulation of Cattle, to be bawd to a Belweather, and to betray a shee-Lambe of a tweluemonth to a crooked-pated olde Cuckoldly Ramme, out of all reasonable match. If thou bee'st not damn'd for this, the diuell himselfe will haue no shepherds, I cannot see else how thou shouldst scape

Cor. Heere comes yong Mr Ganimed, my new Mistrisses Brother. Enter Rosalind

Ros. From the east to westerne Inde, no iewel is like Rosalinde, Hir worth being mounted on the winde, through all the world beares Rosalinde. All the pictures fairest Linde, are but blacke to Rosalinde: Let no face bee kept in mind, but the faire of Rosalinde

Clo. Ile rime you so, eight yeares together; dinners, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted: it is the right Butter-womens ranke to Market

Ros. Out Foole

Clo. For a taste. If a Hart doe lacke a Hinde, Let him seeke out Rosalinde: If the Cat will after kinde, so be sure will Rosalinde: Wintred garments must be linde, so must slender Rosalinde: They that reap must sheafe and binde, then to cart with Rosalinde. Sweetest nut, hath sowrest rinde, such a nut is Rosalinde. He that sweetest rose will finde, must finde Loues pricke, & Rosalinde. This is the verie false gallop of Verses, why doe you infect your selfe with them? Ros. Peace you dull foole, I found them on a tree

Clo. Truely the tree yeelds bad fruite

Ros. Ile graffe it with you, and then I shall graffe it with a Medler: then it will be the earliest fruit i'th country: for you'l be rotten ere you bee halfe ripe, and that's the right vertue of the Medler

Clo. You haue said: but whether wisely or no, let the Forrest iudge. Enter Celia with a writing.

Ros. Peace, here comes my sister reading, stand aside

Cel. Why should this Desert bee, for it is vnpeopled? Noe: Tonges Ile hang on euerie tree, that shall ciuill sayings shoe. Some, how briefe the Life of man runs his erring pilgrimage, That the stretching of a span, buckles in his summe of age. Some of violated vowes, twixt the soules of friend, and friend: But vpon the fairest bowes, or at euerie sentence end; Will I Rosalinda write, teaching all that reade, to know The quintessence of euerie sprite, heauen would in little show. Therefore heauen Nature charg'd, that one bodie should be fill'd With all Graces wide enlarg'd, nature presently distill'd Helens cheeke, but not his heart, Cleopatra's Maiestie: Attalanta's better part, sad Lucrecia's Modestie. Thus Rosalinde of manie parts, by Heauenly Synode was deuis'd, Of manie faces, eyes, and hearts, to haue the touches deerest pris'd. Heauen would that shee these gifts should haue, and I to liue and die her slaue

Ros. O most gentle Iupiter, what tedious homilie of Loue haue you wearied your parishioners withall, and neuer cri'de, haue patience good people

Cel. How now backe friends: Shepheard, go off a little:
go with him sirrah

Clo. Come Shepheard, let vs make an honorable retreit, though not with bagge and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage. Enter.

Cel. Didst thou heare these verses?
Ros. O yes, I heard them all, and more too, for some
of them had in them more feete then the Verses would
beare

Cel. That's no matter: the feet might beare y verses

Ros. I, but the feet were lame, and could not beare themselues without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse

Cel. But didst thou heare without wondering, how thy name should be hang'd and carued vpon these trees? Ros. I was seuen of the nine daies out of the wonder, before you came: for looke heere what I found on a Palme tree; I was neuer so berim'd since Pythagoras time that I was an Irish Rat, which I can hardly remember

Cel. Tro you, who hath done this?
Ros. Is it a man?
Cel. And a chaine that you once wore about his neck:
change you colour?
Ros. I pre'thee who?
Cel. O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends to
meete; but Mountaines may bee remoou'd with Earthquakes,
and so encounter

Ros. Nay, but who is it?
Cel. Is it possible?
Ros. Nay, I pre'thee now, with most petitionary vehemence,
tell me who it is

Cel. O wonderfull, wonderfull, and most wonderfull wonderfull, and yet againe wonderful, and after that out of all hooping

Ros. Good my complection, dost thou think though I am caparison'd like a man, I haue a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more, is a South-sea of discouerie. I pre'thee tell me, who is it quickely, and speake apace: I would thou couldst stammer, that thou might'st powre this conceal'd man out of thy mouth, as Wine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd bottle: either too much at once, or none at all. I pre'thee take the Corke out of thy mouth, that I may drinke thy tydings

Cel. So you may put a man in your belly

Ros. Is he of Gods 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

Ros. Why God will send more, if the man will bee thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin

Cel. It is yong Orlando, that tript vp the Wrastlers
heeles, and your heart, both in an instant

Ros. Nay, but the diuell take mocking: speake sadde
brow, and true maid

Cel. I'faith (Coz) tis he

Ros. Orlando?
Cel. Orlando

Ros. Alas the day, what shall I do with my doublet & hose? What did he when thou saw'st him? What sayde he? How look'd he? Wherein went he? What makes hee heere? Did he aske for me? Where remaines he? How parted he with thee? And when shalt thou see him againe? Answer me in one word

Cel. You must borrow me Gargantuas mouth first: 'tis a Word too great for any mouth of this Ages size, to say I and no, to these particulars, is more then to answer in a Catechisme

Ros. But doth he know that I am in this Forrest, and in mans apparrell? Looks he as freshly, as he did the day he Wrastled? Cel. It is as easie to count Atomies as to resolue the propositions of a Louer: but take a taste of my finding him, and rellish it with good obseruance. I found him vnder a tree like a drop'd Acorne

Ros. It may wel be cal'd Ioues tree, when it droppes
forth fruite

Cel. Giue me audience, good Madam

Ros. Proceed

Cel. There lay hee stretch'd along like a Wounded
knight

Ros. Though it be pittie to see such a sight, it well
becomes the ground

Cel. Cry holla, to the tongue, I prethee: it curuettes
vnseasonably. He was furnish'd like a Hunter

Ros. O ominous, he comes to kill my Hart

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

Ros. Do you not know I am a woman, when I thinke, I must speake: sweet, say on. Enter Orlando & Iaques.

Cel. You bring me out. Soft, comes he not heere?
Ros. 'Tis he, slinke by, and note him

Iaq. I thanke you for your company, but good faith
I had as liefe haue beene my selfe alone

Orl. And so had I: but yet for fashion sake
I thanke you too, for your societie

Iaq. God buy you, let's meet as little as we can

Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers

Iaq. I pray you marre no more trees with Writing
Loue-songs in their barkes

Orl. I pray you marre no moe of my verses with reading
them ill-fauouredly

Iaq. Rosalinde is your loues name?
Orl. Yes, Iust

Iaq. I do not like her name

Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you when she
was christen'd

Iaq. What stature is she of?
Orl. Iust as high as my heart

Iaq. You are ful of prety answers: haue you not bin acquainted
with goldsmiths wiues, & cond the[m] out of rings
Orl. Not so: but I answer you right painted cloath,
from whence you haue studied your questions

Iaq. You haue a nimble wit; I thinke 'twas made of Attalanta's heeles. Will you sitte downe with me, and wee two, will raile against our Mistris the world, and all our miserie

Orl. I wil chide no breather in the world but my selfe
against whom I know most faults

Iaq. The worst fault you haue, is to be in loue

Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change, for your best vertue:
I am wearie of you

Iaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a Foole, when I
found you

Orl. He is drown'd in the brooke, looke but in, and
you shall see him

Iaq. There I shal see mine owne figure

Orl. Which I take to be either a foole, or a Cipher

Iaq. Ile tarrie no longer with you, farewell good signior
Loue

Orl. I am glad of your departure: Adieu good Monsieur
Melancholly

Ros. I wil speake to him like a sawcie Lacky, and vnder
that habit play the knaue with him, do you hear Forrester

Orl. Verie wel, what would you?
Ros. I pray you, what i'st a clocke?
Orl. You should aske me what time o' day: there's no
clocke in the Forrest

Ros. Then there is no true Louer in the Forrest, else sighing euerie minute, and groaning euerie houre wold detect the lazie foot of time, as wel as a clocke

Orl. And why not the swift foote of time? Had not that bin as proper? Ros. By no meanes sir; Time trauels in diuers paces, with diuers persons: Ile tel you who Time ambles withall, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands stil withall

Orl. I prethee, who doth he trot withal? Ros. Marry he trots hard with a yong maid, between the contract of her marriage, and the day it is solemnizd: if the interim be but a sennight, Times pace is so hard, that it seemes the length of seuen yeare

Orl. Who ambles Time withal? Ros. With a Priest that lacks Latine, and a rich man that hath not the Gowt: for the one sleepes easily because he cannot study, and the other liues merrily, because he feeles no paine: the one lacking the burthen of leane and wasteful Learning; the other knowing no burthen of heauie tedious penurie. These Time ambles withal

Orl. Who doth he gallop withal?
Ros. With a theefe to the gallowes: for though hee
go as softly as foot can fall, he thinkes himselfe too soon
there

Orl. Who staies it stil withal?
Ros. With Lawiers in the vacation: for they sleepe
betweene Terme and Terme, and then they perceiue not
how time moues

Orl. Where dwel you prettie youth?
Ros. With this Shepheardesse my sister: heere in the
skirts of the Forrest, like fringe vpon a petticoat

Orl. Are you natiue of this place?
Ros. As the Conie that you see dwell where shee is
kindled

Orl. Your accent is something finer, then you could
purchase in so remoued a dwelling

Ros. I haue bin told so of many: but indeed, an olde religious Vnckle of mine taught me to speake, who was in his youth an inland man, one that knew Courtship too well: for there he fel in loue. I haue heard him read many Lectors against it, and I thanke God, I am not a Woman to be touch'd with so many giddie offences as hee hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal

Orl. Can you remember any of the principall euils, that he laid to the charge of women? Ros. There were none principal, they were all like one another, as halfepence are, euerie one fault seeming monstrous, til his fellow-fault came to match it

Orl. I prethee recount some of them

Ros. No: I wil not cast away my physick, but on those that are sicke. There is a man haunts the Forrest, that abuses our yong plants with caruing Rosalinde on their barkes; hangs Oades vpon Hauthornes, and Elegies on brambles; all (forsooth) defying the name of Rosalinde. If I could meet that Fancie-monger, I would giue him some good counsel, for he seemes to haue the Quotidian of Loue vpon him

Orl. I am he that is so Loue-shak'd, I pray you tel
me your remedie

Ros. There is none of my Vnckles markes vpon you: he taught me how to know a man in loue: in which cage of rushes, I am sure you art not prisoner

Orl. What were his markes? Ros. A leane cheeke, which you haue not: a blew eie and sunken, which you haue not: an vnquestionable spirit, which you haue not: a beard neglected, which you haue not: (but I pardon you for that, for simply your hauing in beard, is a yonger brothers reuennew) then your hose should be vngarter'd, your bonnet vnbanded, your sleeue vnbutton'd, your shoo vnti'de, and euerie thing about you, demonstrating a carelesse desolation: but you are no such man; you are rather point deuice in your accoustrements, as louing your selfe, then seeming the Louer of any other

Orl. Faire youth, I would I could make thee beleeue I Loue

Ros. Me beleeue it? You may assoone make her that you Loue beleeue it, which I warrant she is apter to do, then to confesse she do's: that is one of the points, in the which women stil giue 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 sweare to thee youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that vnfortunate he

Ros. But are you so much in loue, as your rimes speak?
Orl. Neither rime nor reason can expresse how much

Ros. Loue is meerely a madnesse, and I tel you, deserues as wel a darke house, and a whip, as madmen do: and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured, is that the Lunacie is so ordinarie, that the whippers are in loue too: yet I professe curing it by counsel

Orl. Did you euer cure any so? Ros. Yes one, and in this manner. Hee was to imagine me his Loue, his Mistris: and I set him euerie day to woe me. At which time would I, being but a moonish youth, greeue, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, ful of teares, full of smiles; for euerie passion something, and for no passion truly any thing, as boyes and women are for the most part, cattle of this colour: would now like him, now loath him: then entertaine him, then forswear him: now weepe for him, then spit at him; that I draue my Sutor from his mad humor of loue, to a liuing humor of madnes, w was to forsweare the ful stream of y world, and to liue in a nooke meerly Monastick: and thus I cur'd him, and this way wil I take vpon mee to wash your Liuer as cleane as a sound sheepes heart, that there shal not be one spot of Loue in't

Orl. I would not be cured, youth

Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind,
and come euerie day to my Coat, and woe me

Orlan. Now by the faith of my loue, I will; Tel me
where it is

Ros. Go with me to it, and Ile shew it you: and by
the way, you shal tell me, where in the Forrest you liue:
Wil you go?
Orl. With all my heart, good youth

Ros. Nay, you must call mee Rosalind: Come sister,
will you go?

Exeunt.

Scoena Tertia.

Enter Clowne, Audrey, & Iaques.

Clo. Come apace good Audrey, I wil fetch vp your
Goates, Audrey: and how Audrey am I the man yet?
Doth my simple feature content you?
Aud. Your features, Lord warrant vs: what features?
Clo. I am heere with thee, and thy Goats, as the most
capricious Poet honest Ouid was among the Gothes

Iaq. O knowledge ill inhabited, worse then Ioue in
a thatch'd house

Clo. When a mans verses cannot be vnderstood, nor a mans good wit seconded with the forward childe, vnderstanding: it strikes a man more dead then a great reckoning in a little roome: truly, I would the Gods hadde made thee poeticall

Aud. I do not know what Poetical is: is it honest in deed and word: is it a true thing? Clo. No trulie: for the truest poetrie is the most faining, and Louers are giuen to Poetrie: and what they sweare in Poetrie, may be said as Louers, they do feigne

Aud. Do you wish then that the Gods had made me Poeticall? Clow. I do truly: for thou swear'st to me thou art honest: Now if thou wert a Poet, I might haue some hope thou didst feigne

Aud. Would you not haue me honest?
Clo. No truly, vnlesse thou wert hard fauour'd: for
honestie coupled to beautie, is to haue Honie a sawce to
Sugar

Iaq. A materiall foole

Aud. Well, I am not faire, and therefore I pray the
Gods make me honest

Clo. Truly, and to cast away honestie vppon a foule
slut, were to put good meate into an vncleane dish

Aud. I am not a slut, though I thanke the Goddes I
am foule

Clo. Well, praised be the Gods, for thy foulnesse; sluttishnesse may come heereafter. But be it, as it may bee, I wil marrie thee: and to that end, I haue bin with Sir Oliuer Mar-text, the Vicar of the next village, who hath promis'd to meete me in this place of the Forrest, and to couple vs

Iaq. I would faine see this meeting

Aud. Wel, the Gods giue vs ioy

Clo. Amen. A man may if he were of a fearful heart, stagger in this attempt: for heere wee haue no Temple but the wood, no assembly but horne-beasts. But what though? Courage. As hornes are odious, they are necessarie. It is said, many a man knowes no end of his goods; right: Many a man has good Hornes, and knows no end of them. Well, that is the dowrie of his wife, 'tis none of his owne getting; hornes, euen so poore men alone: No, no, the noblest Deere hath them as huge as the Rascall: Is the single man therefore blessed? No, as a wall'd Towne is more worthier then a village, so is the forehead of a married man, more honourable then the bare brow of a Batcheller: and by how much defence is better then no skill, by so much is a horne more precious then to want. Enter Sir Oliuer Mar-text.

Heere comes Sir Oliuer: Sir Oliuer Mar-text you are wel met. Will you dispatch vs heere vnder this tree, or shal we go with you to your Chappell? Ol. Is there none heere to giue the woman? Clo. I wil not take her on guift of any man

Ol. Truly she must be giuen, or the marriage is not
lawfull

Iaq. Proceed, proceede: Ile giue her

Clo. Good euen good Mr what ye cal't: how do you Sir, you are verie well met: goddild you for your last companie, I am verie glad to see you, euen a toy in hand heere Sir: Nay, pray be couer'd

Iaq. Wil you be married, Motley?
Clo. As the Oxe hath his bow sir, the horse his curb,
and the Falcon her bels, so man hath his desires, and as
Pigeons bill, so wedlocke would be nibling

Iaq. And wil you (being a man of your breeding) be married vnder a bush like a begger? Get you to church, and haue a good Priest that can tel you what marriage is, this fellow wil but ioyne you together, as they ioyne Wainscot, then one of you wil proue a shrunke pannell, and like greene timber, warpe, warpe

Clo. I am not in the minde, but I were better to bee married of him then of another, for he is not like to marrie me wel: and not being wel married, it wil be a good excuse for me heereafter, to leaue my wife

Iaq. Goe thou with mee,
And let me counsel thee

Ol. Come sweete Audrey, We must be married, or we must liue in baudrey: Farewel good Mr Oliuer: Not O sweet Oliuer, O braue Oliuer leaue me not behind thee: But winde away, bee gone I say, I wil not to wedding with thee

Ol. 'Tis no matter; Ne're a fantastical knaue of them
all shal flout me out of my calling.

Exeunt.

Scoena Quarta.

Enter Rosalind & Celia.

Ros. Neuer talke to me, I wil weepe

Cel. Do I prethee, but yet haue the grace to consider,
that teares do not become a man

Ros. But haue I not cause to weepe?
Cel. As good cause as one would desire,
Therefore weepe

Ros. His very haire
Is of the dissembling colour

Cel. Something browner then Iudasses:
Marrie his kisses are Iudasses owne children

Ros. I'faith his haire is of a good colour

Cel. An excellent colour:
Your Chessenut was euer the onely colour:
Ros. And his kissing is as ful of sanctitie,
As the touch of holy bread

Cel. Hee hath bought a paire of cast lips of Diana: a Nun of winters sisterhood kisses not more religiouslie, the very yce of chastity is in them

Rosa. But why did hee sweare hee would come this
morning, and comes not?
Cel. Nay certainly there is no truth in him

Ros. Doe you thinke so?
Cel. Yes, I thinke he is not a picke purse, nor a horse-stealer,
but for his verity in loue, I doe thinke him as
concaue as a couered goblet, or a Worme-eaten nut

Ros. Not true in loue?
Cel. Yes, when he is in, but I thinke he is not in

Ros. You haue heard him sweare downright he was

Cel. Was, is not is: besides, the oath of Louer is no stronger then the word of a Tapster, they are both the confirmer of false reckonings, he attends here in the forrest on the Duke your father

Ros. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question with him: he askt me of what parentage I was; I told him of as good as he, so he laugh'd and let mee goe. But what talke wee of Fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando? Cel. O that's a braue man, hee writes braue verses, speakes braue words, sweares braue oathes, and breakes them brauely, quite trauers athwart the heart of his louer, as a puisny Tilter, y spurs his horse but on one side, breakes his staffe like a noble goose; but all's braue that youth mounts, and folly guides: who comes heere? Enter Corin.

Corin. Mistresse and Master, you haue oft enquired After the Shepheard that complain'd of loue, Who you saw sitting by me on the Turph, Praising the proud disdainfull Shepherdesse That was his Mistresse

Cel. Well: and what of him? Cor. If you will see a pageant truely plaid Betweene the pale complexion of true Loue, And the red glowe of scorne and prowd disdaine, Goe hence a little, and I shall conduct you If you will marke it

Ros. O come, let vs remoue, The sight of Louers feedeth those in loue: Bring vs to this sight, and you shall say Ile proue a busie actor in their play.

Exeunt.

Scena Quinta.

Enter Siluius and Phebe.

Sil. Sweet Phebe doe not scorne me, do not Phebe Say that you loue me not, but say not so In bitternesse; the common executioner Whose heart th' accustom'd sight of death makes hard Falls not the axe vpon the humbled neck, But first begs pardon: will you sterner be Then he that dies and liues by bloody drops? Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin.

Phe. I would not be thy executioner, I flye thee, for I would not iniure thee: Thou tellst me there is murder in mine eye, 'Tis pretty sure, and very probable, That eyes that are the frailst, and softest things, Who shut their coward gates on atomyes, Should be called tyrants, butchers, murtherers. Now I doe frowne on thee with all my heart, And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee: Now counterfeit to swound, why now fall downe, Or if thou canst not, oh for shame, for shame, Lye not, to say mine eyes are murtherers: Now shew the wound mine eye hath made in thee, Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remaines Some scarre of it: Leane vpon a rush The Cicatrice and capable impressure Thy palme some moment keepes: but now mine eyes Which I haue darted at thee, hurt thee not, Nor I am sure there is no force in eyes That can doe hurt

Sil. O deere Phebe, If euer (as that euer may be neere) You meet in some fresh cheeke the power of fancie, Then shall you know the wounds inuisible That Loues keene arrows make

Phe. But till that time Come not thou neere me: and when that time comes, Afflict me with thy mockes, pitty me not, As till that time I shall not pitty thee

Ros. And why I pray you? who might be your mother That you insult, exult, and all at once Ouer the wretched? what though you haue no beauty As by my faith, I see no more in you Then without Candle may goe darke to bed: Must you be therefore prowd and pittilesse? Why what meanes this? why do you looke on me? I see no more in you then in the ordinary Of Natures sale-worke? 'ods my little life, I thinke she meanes to tangle my eies too: No faith proud Mistresse, hope not after it, 'Tis not your inkie browes, your blacke silke haire, Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheeke of creame That can entame my spirits to your worship: You foolish Shepheard, wherefore do you follow her Like foggy South, puffing with winde and raine, You are a thousand times a properer man Then she a woman. 'Tis such fooles as you That makes the world full of ill-fauourd children: 'Tis not her glasse, but you that flatters her, And out of you she sees her selfe more proper Then any of her lineaments can show her: But Mistris, know your selfe, downe on your knees And thanke heauen, fasting, for a good mans loue; For I must tell you friendly in your eare, Sell when you can, you are not for all markets: Cry the man mercy, loue him, take his offer, Foule is most foule, being foule to be a scoffer. So take her to thee Shepheard, fareyouwell

Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a yere together,
I had rather here you chide, then this man wooe

Ros. Hees falne in loue with your foulnesse, & shee'll Fall in loue with my anger. If it be so, as fast As she answeres thee with frowning lookes, ile sauce Her with bitter words: why looke you so vpon me? Phe. For no ill will I beare you

Ros. I pray you do not fall in loue with mee, For I am falser then vowes made in wine: Besides, I like you not: if you will know my house, 'Tis at the tufft of Oliues, here hard by: Will you goe Sister? Shepheard ply her hard: Come Sister: Shepheardesse, looke on him better And be not proud, though all the world could see, None could be so abus'd in sight as hee. Come, to our flocke, Enter.

Phe. Dead Shepheard, now I find thy saw of might,
Who euer lov'd, that lou'd not at first sight?
Sil. Sweet Phebe

Phe. Hah: what saist thou Siluius?
Sil. Sweet Phebe pitty me

Phe. Why I am sorry for thee gentle Siluius

Sil. Where euer sorrow is, reliefe would be: If you doe sorrow at my griefe in loue, By giuing loue your sorrow, and my griefe Were both extermin'd

Phe. Thou hast my loue, is not that neighbourly?
Sil. I would haue you

Phe. Why that were couetousnesse: Siluius; the time was, that I hated thee; And yet it is not, that I beare thee loue, But since that thou canst talke of loue so well, Thy company, which erst was irkesome to me I will endure; and Ile employ thee too: But doe not looke for further recompence Then thine owne gladnesse, that thou art employd

Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my loue, And I in such a pouerty of grace, That I shall thinke it a most plenteous crop To gleane the broken eares after the man That the maine haruest reapes: loose now and then A scattred smile, and that Ile liue vpon