Imatges de pàgina
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Jaq. By my troth, I was feeking for a fool, when I found you.

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

Jag. There I fhall fee mine own figure.

Orla. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cypher. Jaq. I'll ftay no longer with you; farewel, good fignior love. [Exit. Orla. I am glad of your departure: adieu, good Monfieur melancholy.

SCENE

VIII.

Rof. I will fpeak to him like a fawcy lacquey, and under that habit play the knave with him: do you hear, fo

refter.?

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 foreft.

Ref. Then there is no true lover in the foreft; elfe fighing every minute, and groaning every hour, would detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock.

Orla. And why not the fwift foot of time? had not that been as proper ?

Rof. By no means, Sir: time travels in divers paces with divers perfons; I'll tell you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he ftands ftill withal.

Orla. I pr'ythee, whom doth he trot withal?

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

Orla. Who ámbles time withal?

Rof. With a prieft that lacks latin, and a rich man that hath not the gout; for the one fleeps eafily because he can→ not 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. Thefe time ambles withal.

Orla, Whom doth he gallop withal ?

Ref.

Rof. With a thief to the gallows for though he go as foftly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too foon there. Orla. Whom ftays it withal?

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

moves.

Orla. Where dwell you, pretty youth?

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

Orla. Are you native of this place?

Ref. As the cony that you fee dwell where she is kindled. Orla. Your accent is fomething finer than you could purchafe in fo removed a dwelling.

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Rof. I have been told so of many; but indeed an old religious uncle of mine taught me to fpeak, 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 fo many giddy offences as he hath generally tax'd their whole fex withal.

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Orla. Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of women?

Rof. There were none principal, they were all like one another, as half pence are; every one fault feeming monftrous, till his fellow fault came to match it.

Orla. I pr'ythee, recount fome of them.

Rof. No; I will not caft away my phyfick, but on thofe that are fick. There is a man haunts the foreft, that abuses our young plants with carving Rofalind on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies on brambles; all, forfooth, deifying the name of Rofalind. If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him fome good coun fel, for he feems to have the quotidian of love upon him. Orla. I am he that is so love-fhak'd; I pray you, tell me your remedy.

Rof. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you; he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rufhes I am fure you are not prifoner.

Orla. What were his marks?

Ros. A lean cheek, which you have hot; a blue eye

and

and funken, which you have not; an unquestionable spirit, which you have not; a beard neglected, 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 fleeve unbutton'd, your fhoe untied, and every thing about you de-* monftrating a careless defolation; but you are no fuch man, you are rather poin-device in your accoutrements, as loving your felf, than feeming the lover of any other.

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

Rof. Me believe it? you may as foon make her that you love believe it; which, I warrant, fhe is apter to do than to confefs fhe does; that is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their confciences. But in goc d footh, are you he that hangs the verfes on the trees, wherein Rofalind is fo admired?

Orla. I fwear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rofalind, I am he, that unfortunate he.

Rof. But are you fo much in love as your rhimes speak? Orla. Neither rhime nor reason can exprefs how much. Rof. Love is meerly a madnefs, and, I tell you, deferves as well a dark house and a whip as mad men do: and the reason 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 profefs curing it by counsel.

Orla. Did you ever cure any fo?"

Rof. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress: and I fet him every day to woo

me.

At which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking, proud, fantastical, apifh, fhallow, inconftant, full of tears, full of fmiles; for every paffion fomething, and for no paffion 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 forfwear 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 madness, which was to forfwear the full ftream of the world, and to live in a nook meerly monaftick; and thus I cur'd him, and this way

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way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clear as a found fheep's heart, that there shall not be one fpot of love

in't.

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

Rof. I would cure you if you would but call me Rofalind," and come every day to my cote, and woo me.

Orla. Now, by the faith of my love, I will; tell me where it is.

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

Orla. With all my heart, good youth.

Ref. Nay, nay, you must call me Rofalind: come, fifter, will you go?

[Exeunt. SCENE IX. 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 fimple feature content you?

Aud. Your features, lord warrant us! what features? Clo. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most căpricious poet honeft Ovid was among the Gotbs.

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

Clo. When a man's verfes cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit feconded with the forward child, underftanding; it ftrikes a man more dead than a great reeking in little room: truly I would the Gods had made thee poetical.

Aud. I do not know what poetical is; is it honeft in deed and word? is it a true thing?

Clo. No truly; for the trueft poetry is the most feigning, and lovers are given to poetry, and what they fwear in poetry, may be faid as lovers, they do feign.

Aud. Do you wish then that the Gods had made me poetical?

Clo. I do truly; for thou fwear'ft to me thou art honeft: now if thou wert a poet, I might have fome hope thou didft feign.

Aud. Would you not have me honest?

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Clo. No truly, unless thou wert hard favour'd; for honefty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a fawce to fugar. Jaq. A material fool!

Aud. Well, I am not fair, and therefore I pray the Gods make me honeft.

Clo. Truly, and to caft away honefty upon a foul flut 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, praifed be the Gods for thy foulnefs! fluttifhnefs 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 foreft, and to couple us.

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Jaq. I would fain fee this meeting.

Aud. Well, the Gods give us joy.

Clo. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, ftagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no affembly but horn-beafts. But what tho'? courage. As horns are odious, they are neceffary. It is faid, 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 nobleft deer hath them as huge as the rafcal: is the fingle man therefore bleffed? no. As a wall'd town is worthier than a village, fo 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 difpatch us here under this tree, or fhall 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 the must be given, or the marriage is not Jawful.

Jaq. Proceed, proceed! I'll give her.

Clo. Good even, good mafter what ye call: how do you,

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