tree; I was never fo be-rhimed fince Pythagoras's time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember. Cel. Trow 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 pr'ythee, who?

Cel. O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains be removed with earthquakes, may

and fo encounter.

Rof. Nay, but who is it?
Cel. Is it poffible?

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

Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all whooping

Rof. Odds, my complexion! doft thou think, though I am caparifon'd like a man, I have a doublet and hofe in my difpofition? (6) One inch of delay more is a South-fea off discovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, who is it; quickly, and speak apace; I would thou couldst ftammer, that thou might'ft pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrowmouth'd bottle; either too much at once, or none at all. I pr'ythee, take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings.

belly.

Cel. So you may put a man in your
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.

(6) One Inch of Delay more is a fea of Difcovery: This is ftark Difcovery. ie., from Difcovery. Time longer, I fhall think this the South-fea is."

South-fea of Difcovery;] A South-
Nonfenfe; We must read- -off
"If you delay me one Inch of
Secret as far from Discovery as

Cel

Cel. It is young Orlando, that tripp'd up the wrestler's heels and your heart both in an instant.

Ref. 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 afk for me? where remains he? how parted he with thee? and when shalt thou fee him again? anfwer me in one word.

Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's mouth firft; 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's fize: to fay, ay, and no, to thefe particulars, is more than to anfwer in a catechifm.

Rof. But doth he know that I am in this foreft, and in man's apparel? looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled?

Cel. It is as eafy 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. 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, holla! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee; it carveta unfeafonably. He was furnish'd like hunter.

Rof. Oh, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.

Cel. I would fing my fong without a burden; thou bring'ft me out of tune.

Rof. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I muft fpeak: Sweet, fay on.

Enter

Enter Orlando and Jaques.

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

[Celia and Rofalind retire. Jaq. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myfelf alone.

Orla. And fo had I; but yet for fashion fake, I thank you too for your fociety.

Faq. God b'w' you, let's meet as little as we can,
Ola. I do defire we may be better ftrangers.

Jag pray you, marr no more trees with writing love-tongs in their barks.

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

Faq. 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 fhe was chriften'd.

Jaq. What ftature is the of?

Orla. Juft as high as my heart.

Faq. You are full of pretty anfwers; have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths wives, and conn'd them out of rings?

Orla. Not fo: (7) but I anfwer you right painted cloth, from whence you have ftudied your questions.

Jaq. You have a nimble wit; I think, it was made of Atalanta's heels. Will you fit down with me, and we two will rail against our mistress, the world, and alt our misery.

(7) But I answer you right painted Cloth.] This alludes to the Fashion, in old Tapestry Hangings, of Motto's and moral Sentences from the Mouths of the Figures work'd or painted in them. The Poet again hints at this Cuftom in his Poem, call'd, Tarquin and Lucrece:

Who fears a Sentence, or an old Man's Saw,
Shall by a painted Cloth be kept in Awe.

Orla

Orla. I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most faults.

Jaq. The worst fault you have, is to be in love. Orla. '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 shall see him.

Jaq. There I fhall fee mine own figure.

Orla. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cypher. Fag. I'll ftay no longer with you; farewel, good Signior love!

(Exit. Orla. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good Monfieur melancholy! [Cel. and Rof. come forward. Rof. I will fpeak to him like a fawcy lacquey, and under that habit play the knave with him: do you hear, forefter ?

Orla. Very well; what would you ?.

Ref. I pray you, what is't a clock?

Orla. You fhould ask me, what time o'day; there's no clock in the foreft.

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

Orla. And why not the swift 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 seven 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, because he cannot study; and the other lives merrily,

becaufe

because he feels no pain: the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning; the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury. Thefe time ambles withal. Orla. Whom doth he gallop withal?

Roj. With a thief to the gallows: for though he go as foftly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too foon there.

Orla. Whom stays it ftill 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 fhepherdefs, my fifter; here in the fkirts of the foreft, like fringe upon a petticoat. Orla. Are you native of this place?

Rof. As the cony, that you fee dwell where the is kindled.

Orla. Your accent is fomething finer, than you could purchase in fo removed a dwelling.

Rof. I have been told fo of many; but, indeed, an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an in-land 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 wo man, to be touch'd with fo many giddy offences as he hath generally tax'd their whole fex withal.

Orla. Can you rember 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 monstrous, 'till his fellow fault came to match it.

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

Ref. No; I will not caft away my phyfick, but on thofe that are fick. There is a man haunts the foreft, that abufes 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 counfel, for he feems to have the Quotidian of love upon him

Orla