He that fweetest Rofe will find,

Muft find Loves prick, and Rofalind.

This is the very falfe gallop of Verfes; why do you infect your felf with them?

Rof. Peace, you dull Fool, I found them on a Tree.
Clown. Truly, the Tree yields bad Fruit,

Rof. I'll graff it with you, and then I fhall graff it with a Medler; than it will be the earliest Fruit i'th' Country; for you'll be rotten e'er you be half ripe, and that's the right Vertue of the Medler.

Clown. You have faid; but whether wifely or no, let the Foreft judge.

Enter Celia with a Writing.

Rof. Peace, here comes my Sifter reading, Iftand afide.
Cel. Why Should this a Defart be?
For it is unpeopled. No;
Tongues I'll hang on every Tree,
That fhall civil Sayings flow.
Some, how brief the Life of Man
Runs his erring Pilgrimage,
That the stretching of a Span,
Buckles in his fum of Age.
Some of violated Vows,

'Twixt the Souls of Friend and Friend,
But upon the fairest Boughs,

Or at every Sentence end,
Will I Rofalinda write;

Teaching all that read, to know
This Quinteffence of every Sprite,
Heaven would in little flow.
Therefore Heaven Nature charg'd,
That one Body Should be fill'd
With all the Graces wide enlarg'd;
Nature prefently diftill'd
Helen's Cheeks, but not her Heart,
Cleopatra's Majefty;
Atalanta's better part,

Sad Lucretia's Modesty.

Thus Rofalind of many parts,
By heav'nly Sysod was devis'd,

Of

Of many Faces, Eyes and Hearts,

To have the touches dearcft priz'd.

Heav'n would that she thefe Gifts should have,
And I to live and die her Slave.

Rof. O moft gentle Jupiter! what tedious Homily of Love have you wearied your iParishioners withal, and never cry'd, Have Patience, good People?

Cel. How now, back Friends, Shepherd go off a litle: Go with him, Sirra.

Clown. Come, Shepherd, let us make an Honourable Retreat, tho' not with Bag and Baggage, yet with Scrip and Scrippage.

Exit Cor. and Clown.

Cel. Didft thou hear these Verfes? Rof. O yes, I heard them all, and more too, for fome of them had in them more Feet than the Verfes would bear. Cel. That's no matter; the Feet might bear the Verfes.

Rof. Ay, but the Feet were lame, and could not bear themfelves without the Verfe, and therefore ftood lamely in the Verfe.

Cel. But didft thou hear without wondring, how thy Name fhould be hang'd and carv'd upon thefe Trees?

Rof. I was feven of the nine days out of wonder, before you came: For look here what I found on a Palm-tree'; I was never fo berhim'd fince Pythagoras's time, that I was an Irish Rat, which I can hardly remember.

Cel. Tro you, who hath done this?

Rof. Is it a Man?

Cel. And a Chain that you once wore, about his Neck: Change you colour?

Rof. I prethee who?

Cel. O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for Friends to meet; but Mountains may be remov'd with Earthquakes, and fo encounter.

Rof. Nay, but who is it?

Cel. Is it poffible?

Rof. Nay, I prethee now, with moft petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is.

Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and moft wonderful worderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all hoping.

M 4

.Rof.

Rof. Good my Complexion, doft thou think, though I am caparifon'd like a Man, I have a Doublet and a Hofe in my difpofition? One inch of delay more, is a South Sea of difcovery. I prethee tell me, who is it, quickly, and speak apace? I would thou could'ft ftammer, that thou mightst this concealed Man out of thy Mouth, as Wine comes pour out of a narrow mouth'd Bottle; either too much at once, or none at all. I prethee take the Cork out of thy Mouth, that I may drink thy tidings.

Cel. So you may put a Man in your Belly.

Rof. Is he of God's 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.

Rof. Why God will fend more, if the Man will be thankful; let me ftay the growth of his Beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his Chin.

Cel. It is young Orlando, that trip'd up the Wrestler's Heels, and your Heart, both in an inftant.

Rof. Nay, but the Devil take mocking; fpeak, fad Brow, and true Maid.

Cel. I'faith, Coz, 'tis he.

Rof. Orlando?

Cel. Orlando.

Rof. Alas the day, what fhall I do with my Doublet and Hofe? What did he when thou faw'ft him? What faid he? How look'd he? Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? and when fhalt thou fee him again? Answer me in one word.

Cel. You must borrow me Gargantua's Mouth firft; 'tis a Word too great for any Mouth of this Age's fize: To fay ay and no to thele particulars, is more than to anfwer in a Catechifm.

Rof. But doth he know that I am in this Forest, and in Man's Apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wreftled?

Cel. It is as eafie to count Atoms as to refolve the Propofitions of a Lover? but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good obfervance. I found him under a Tree like a dropp'd Acorn,

Rof.

Rof. It may well be call'd Jove's Tree, when it drops forth fuch Fruit.

Cel. Give me Audience, good Madam.

Rof. Proceed.

Cel. There lay he ftretch'd along like a wounded Knight.

Rof. Tho' it be pity to fee fuch a fight, it well becomes the Ground.

Cel. Cry halla, to thy Tongue, I prethee; it curvets unfeasonably. He was furnifh'd like a Hunter.

Rof. O ominous, he comes to kill my Heart.

Cel. I would fing my Song without a burthen, thou bring'ft me out of tune.

Rof. Do you not know I am a Woman, when I think I muft fpeak: Sweet, say on.

Enter Orlando and Jaques.

Cel. You bring me out. Soft, comes he not here?
Rof. 'Tis he, flink by, and note him.

Faq. I thank you for your Company; but good faith, I had as lief have been my self alone.

Orla. And fo had I; but yet, for fashion fake,

I thank you too, for your Society.

Jaq. God b'w' you, let's meet as little as we can.
Orla. I do defire we may be better Strangers.

Jaq. I pray you marr no more Trees with writing Love Songs in their Barks.

Orla. I pray you marr no more of my Verfes with reading them ill-favouredly.

Jaq. Rofalind is your Love's name?

Orla. Yes, Juft.

Jaq. I do not like her Name.

Orla. There was no thought of pleafing you when the was Chriften'd.

Jag. What Stature is the of?

Orla. Juft as high as my Heart.

Jaq. You are full of pretty Anfwers; have you not been acquainted with Goldfiniths Wives, and conn'd them out of Rings.

Orla. Not fo; But I anfwer you right, painted Cloth, from whence you have ftudied your Queftions?

Jaq. You have a nimble Wit; I think it was made of

Ata

Atalanta's Heels Will you fit down with me, and we two will rail against our Miftrefs the World, and all our Mifery.

Orla. I will chide no Brother in the World but my felf, against whom I know no faults.

Jaq. The worst fault you have, is to be in Love.

Oria. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best Virtue; I am weary of you.

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.

Jaq. There I fhall fee mine own Figure.

Orla. Which I take to be either a Fool, or a Cypher. Faq. I'll ftay no longer with you; farewel, good Signior

Love.

[Exit. Orla. I am glad of your Departure: Adieu, good Monfieur Melancholy.

Rof. I will fpeak to him like a fawcy Laquey, and under that Habit play the Knave with him: Do you hear, Forefter. Orla. Very well, what would you?

Rof. I pray you, what is't a Clock?

Orla. You fhould ask me what time o'day; there's no Clock in the Forest.

Rof. 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 Places, 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 prethee, 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 Solemniz'd: If the interim be but a fennight, Time's pace is fo hard that it feems the length of feven years.

Orla. Who ambles Time withal?

Rof. With a Prieft that lacks Latin, and a rich Man that hath not the Gout; for the one fleeps eafily becaufe he can

not