Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES.

JAQ. I pr'y thee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee.

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,

(*) First folio omits, be.

a Which, by often rumination,-] The first folio inserts in

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 lawyer'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, which, by often rumination, wraps me in a most humorous sadness.

Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad: I fear, you have sold your

before which, the compositor's eye having probably caught the preposition from the line which followed in the MS. The second folio reads, "in which my often rumination."

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.

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!

Enter ORLANDO.

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 now, Orlando! where have you been all this while? you a lover? an you serve me such another trick, never come in my sight more.

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 clapped 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 wooed of a snail.

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 gravelled for lack of matter, you might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators, when they are out, they will spit; and for lovers, lacking (God warn us!) matter, the cleanliest shift is to kiss.

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.c

ORL. What, of my suit?

Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not Ĭ your Rosalind?

ORL. 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 sayest thou?

e Or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.] Mr. Collier's annotator reads, "Or I should thank my honesty rather than my wit."

d And the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was-Hero of Sestos.] Hanmer substituted coroners for "chroniclers," and the same change was made by Mr. Collier's annotator.

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 do take thee, Orlando, for my husband: there's 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 cockpigeon over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot against rain; more new-fangled 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 a 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 this: 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 had 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?

a Make the doors-] That is, bar the doors. See note (b), p. 128, Vol. I.

b Wit, whither wilt?] A proverbial saying, repeatedly met with in our early writers.

© Her husband's occasion,-] Hanmer reads accusation; Mr.

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.

Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours.

ORL. I must attend the duke at dinner; 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 yours 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 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 misused 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 deep I am 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'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he

SIL. My errand is to you, fair youth ;My gentle Phebe did bid me give you this: [Giving a letter. I know not the contents, but, as I guess, By the stern brow and waspish action Which she did use as she was writing of it, It bears an angry tenour: pardon me,

I am but as a guiltless messenger.

Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter,

And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all!
She says, I am not fair; that I lack manners;
She calls me proud; and, that she could not love

my will!

Were man as rare as phoenix; Od's
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt:
Why writes she so to me?-Well, shepherd, well,
This is a letter of your own device.

SIL. No, I protest, I know not the contents; Phebe did write it.

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 freestone-colour'd hand; I verily did think
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands;
She has a huswife's hand; but that's no matter:

Ros. Why, 't is a boisterous and a 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 Than in their countenance.-Will you hear the letter?

SIL. So please you, for I never heard it yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty.

Ros. She Phebes me: mark how the tyrant writes. Reads.

Art thou god to shepherd turn'd,

That a maiden's heart hath burn'd ?—

Can a woman rail thus?

SIL. Call you this railing?

Ros. [Reads.] Why, thy godhead laid apart,
Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?

Did you ever hear such railing?-[Reads.

Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
That could do no vengeance to me.—

Meaning me a beast.—[Reads.

If the scorn of your bright eyne
Have power to raise such love in mine,
Alack, in me what strange effect
Would they work in mild aspéct !
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.

(*) Old text, women's.

And here much Orlando!] This ironical mode of speech is not yet in desuetude. We still occasionally hear "Much you'll see of him!" "Auch I get by this!" and the like.

M

SIL. Call you this chiding? CEL. Alas, poor shepherd!

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. you know,

Pray you, if

Where in the purlieus of this forest stands
A sheep-cote, fenc'd about with olive-trees?
CEL. West of this place, down in the neigh-
bour 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: the woman low, And browner than her brother. Are not you The owner of the house I did inquire for? CEL. It is no boast, being ask'd, to say we are. OLI. Orlando doth commend him to you both, And to that youth he calls his Rosalind, He sends this bloody napkin :-are you he?

Ros. I am what must we understand by this? OLI. Some of my shame; if you will know of

And high top bald with dry antiquity,
A wretched ragged man, o'ergrown with hair,
Lay sleeping on his back: about his neck
A green and gilded snake had wreath'd itself,
Who with her head, nimble in threats, approach'd
The opening of his mouth; but suddenly
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 cat-like
When that the sleeping man should stir; for 't is
The royal disposition of that beast,

[watch,

CEL. Are you his brother?
Ros.
Was 't you he rescu’d?
CEL. Was't you that did so oft contrive to kill
him?

OLI. "T was I, but 't is not I: I do not shame
To tell you what I was, since my conversion
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, Which all this while had bled; and now he fainted, And cried, in fainting, upon Rosalind.

(*) First folio, 1.

b Chewing the cud-] The old text has food, undoubtedly a misprint. "To chew the cud," metaphorically, to ruminate, to revolve in the mind, is an expression of frequent occurrence in our old authors.

e Hustling-] Justling. So in "Julius Cæsar," Act II. Sc. 2:"The noise of battle hurtled in the air."