But what care I for words? yet words do well,
When he that speaks them pleases those that hear:
It is a pretty youth, not very pretty;

But fure he's proud, and yet his pride becomes him;
He'll make a proper man; the best thing in him
Is his complexion; and fafter than his tongue
Did make offence, his eye did heal it up:
He is not tall, yet for his years he's tall
His leg is but fo fo, and yet 'tis well;
There was a pretty redness in his lip,
A little riper and more lufty red

Than that mix'd in his cheek ; 'twas just the difference
Betwixt the conftant red and mingled damafk.

There be fome women, Sylvius, had they mark'd him
In parcels as I did, would have gone near
To fall in love with him; but for my part
I love him not, nor hate him not; and yet

I have more caufe to hate him than to love him:
For what had he to do to chide at me?

He said mine eyes were black, and my hair black,
And, now I am remembred, fcorn'd at me ;
I marvel why I anfwer'd not again,

But that's all one; omittance is no quittance.
I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
And thou fhalt bear it; wilt thou, Sylvius?
Syl. Phebe, with all my heart.

Phe. I'll write it ftraight;

The matter's in my head, and in my heart,
I will be bitter with him, and paffing short:
Go with me, Sylvius.

ACT IV.

[Exeunt

SCENE I.

Continues in the Foreft.

Enter Rofalind, Celia and Jaques.

Jag. I Pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquaint

ed

Rof. They fay you are a melancholy fellow.

Jaq. I am fo; I do love it better than laughing.

Raf. Thofe that are in extremity of either are abomina➡

ble

ble fellows, and betray themselves to every modern cenfure, worfe than drunkards.

Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be fad, and fay nothing.
Rof. Why then 'tis good to be a poft.

Jaq. I have neither the fcholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the foldier's, which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politick; 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 fimples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the fundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness.

Rof. A traveller! by my faith, you have great reafon to be fad: I fear you have fold your own lands, to fee other mens; then, to have feen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands."

Jaq. Yes, I have gain'd experience.

Enter Orlando.

Rof. And your experience makes you fad; I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me fad, and to travel for it too,

Orla. Good day, and happiness, dear Rofalind!

Jaq. Nay, then God b'w'y you, an you talk in blank verse. [Exit,

SCENE II.

Rof. Farewel, monfieur traveller; look you lifp, and wear ftrange fuits; difable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your nativity, and almoft chide God for making you that countenance you are, or I will scarce think you have fwam in a Gondola. Why, how now, Orlando, where have you been all this while? You a lover? an you ferve me fuch another trick, never come in my fight more.

Orla. My fair Rofalind, I come within an hour of my promife.

Rof. Break an hour's promife 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 faid of him, that Cupid hath clapt him o'th fhoulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole. Orla. Pardon me, dear Rofalind.

Rof. Nay, an you be fo tardy, come no more in my fight; I had as lief be woo'd of a fnail. Orla. Of a fnail?

Rof. Ay, of a fnail; for tho' he comes flowly, he carries his houfe on his head: a better jointure, I think, than you can make a woman; besides, he brings his destiny with him.

Orla. What's that?

Rof. Why, horns; which fuch as you are fain to be beholden to your wives for; but he comes armed in his fortune, and prevents the flander of his wife.

Orla. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rofalind is virtuous.

Rof. And I am your Rofalind.

Cel. It pleases him to call you fo; but he hath a Rosalind of a better leer than you.

Ref. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I'am in a holyday humour, and like enough to confent: what would you fay to me now, an I were your very very Rofalind? Orla. I would kifs before I fpoke.

Ref. Nay, you were better speak firft, and when you were gravell'd for lack of matter, you might take occa fion to kifs. Very good orators, when they are out, they will fpit; and for lovers lacking, God warn us, matter, the cleanlieft fhift is to kifs.

Orla. How if the kifs be denied?

Rof. Then fhe puts you to entreaty, and there begins

new matter.

Orla. Who could be out, being before his beloved miftrefs?

Rof. Marry that fhould you if I were your mistress, or I fhould think my honefty ranker than my wit,

Orla. What, of my fuit?

Rof. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your fuit. Am not I your Rofalind?

Orla. I take fome joy to fay you are, because I would be talking of her,

Rof. Well, in her perfon I fay I will not have you.
Orla, Then in mine own perfon I die.

Rof. No, faith, die by attorney; the poor world is almoft fix thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own perfon, videlicet, in a lovecaufe: Troilus had his brains dafh'd 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 liv'd many a fair year, tho' Hero had turn'd nun, if it had not been for a hot midfummer night; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash in the Hellefpont, and being taken with the cramp was drown'd; and the foolish coroners of that age found it Hero of Seftos. But thefe are all lies; men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.

Orla. I would not have my right Rofalind of this mind ; for I proteft her frown might kill me.

Rof. By this hand, it will not kill a flie; but come; now I will be your Rofalind in a more coming-on difpofition; and afk me what you will, I will grant it. Orla. Then love me, Rofalind,

Ref. Yes faith will I, Fridays and Saturdays, and all.
Orla. And wilt thou have me?

Rof. Ay, and twenty fuch,
Orla. What fay'st thou?
Ref. Are you not good?
Orla. I hope fo.

Rof. Why then, can one defire too much of a good thing? come, fifter, you fhall be the priest, and marryus Give me your hand, Orlando: what do you fay, Sifter ? Orla. Pray thee, marry us.

Cel. I cannot fay the words,

Rof. You must begin, will you Orlando ·

Cel. Go to: will you Orlando have to wife this Rofalind? Orla. I will.

Rof. Ay, but when?

Orla. Why now, as faft as she can marry us.

Ref. Then you muft fay, I take thee Rofalind for wife. Orla. I take thee Rofalind for wife.

Ref. I might ask you for your commiffion, but I do

take

take thee Orlando for my husband: there's a girl goes before the priest, and certainly a woman's thought runs before her actions.

Orla. So do all thoughts; they are wing'd.

Rof. Now tell me how long you would love her after you have poffeft her.

Orla. For ever and a day.

Rof. 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 fky changes when they are wives; I will be more jealous of thee than a Barbary cock-pigeon over his hen; more clamorous than a parrot against rain; more new-fangled than an ape; more giddy in my defires than a monkey; will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain, and I will do that when you are difpos'd to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when you are inclin'd to fleep.

T

Orla. But will my Rofalind do fo?
Rof. By my life, the will do as I do.
Orla. O, but he is wife.

Ref. Or elfe the could not have the wit to do this; the wifer, the waywarder: make the doors faft upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the cafement; fhut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; ftop that, it will fly with the smoak out at the chimney.

Orla. A man that had a wife with fuch a wit, he might fay, wit, whither wilt?

Rof. Nay, you might keep that check for it, 'till you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.

Orla. And what wit could wit have to excufe that?

Rof. Marry, to fay fhe came to feek you there: you fhall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O that woman, that cannot make her fault her husband's accufation, let her never nurfe her child her felf, for fhe will breed it like a fool!

Orla. For these two hours, Rofalind, I will leave thee. Rof. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. Orla. I must attend the Duke at dinner, by two o'clock I will be with thee again.

Rof, Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what

you