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Oli. Oh, that your Highness knew my heart in this :
I never lov'd my brother in my life.
Duke. More villain thou. Well, push him out of doors And let my officers of fuch a nature
Make an extent upon his house and lands:
SCENE changes to the FOREST.
Ang there, my verfe, in witnefs of my love; And thou thrice-crowned Queen of night furvey, With thy chafte eye, from thy pale sphere above, Thy huntress' name that my full life doth fway. O Rofalind! these trees fhall be my books, And in their barks my thoughts I'll character; That every eye, which in this foreft looks,
Shall fee thy virtue witnefs'd every where. Run, run, Orlando, carve, on every tree, The fair, the chafte, and unexpreffive fhe.
Enter Corin and Clown.
Cor. And how like you this fhepherd's life, Mr. TouchStone?
Clo. Truly, fhepherd, in refpect of itself, it is a good life; but in refpect that it is a fhepherd's life, it is naught. In refpect that it is folitary, I like it very well: but in refpect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now, in refpect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in refpect it is not in the Court, it is tedious. As it is a fpare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my ftomach. Haft any philofophy in thee, fhepherd ?
Cor. No more, but that I know, the more one fickens, the worse at case he is: and that he, that wants money, means, and content, is without, three good friends. That the property of rain is to wet, and
and fire to burn: that good pafture makes fat fheep; and that a great caufe of the night, is lack of the fun that he, who hath learned no wit by nature nor art, may complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred. :
Clo. Such a one is a natural philofopher. in Court, fhepherd ?
Cor. No, truly.
Clo. Then thou art damn'd.
Cor. Nay, I hope.
Clo. Truly, thou art damn'd, like an ill-roafted egg, all on one fide.
Cor. For not being at Court? your reafon.
Cle. Why, if thou never waft at Court, thou never faw'it good manners; if thou never faw'ft good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is fin, and fin is damnation: thou art in a parlous ftate, Shepherd.
Cor. Not a whit, Touchfone: thofe, that are good manners at the Court, are as ridiculous in the country, as the behaviour of the Country is moft mockable at the Court. You told me, you falute not at the Court, but you kiss your hands; that courtefy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were fhepherds.
Clo. Inflance, briefly; come, inftance.
Cor. Why, we are ftill handling our ewes; and their fels, you know, are greasy.
Clo. Why, do not your courtiers' hands fweat ? and is not the greafe of a mutton as wholefome as the fweat of a man? fhallow, fhallow; a better inftance, I fay :
Cor. Befides, our hands are hard.
Clo. Your lips will feel them the fooner. Shallow again a more founder inftance, come.
Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the furgery of our fheep; and would you have us kifs tarr the courtier's hands are perfumed with civet.
Clo. Moft fhallow man! thou worms meat, in refpect of a good piece of flesh, indeed! learn of the wife, and perpend; civet is of a bafer birth than tarr }
the very uncleanly flux of a cat. fhepherd.
Mend the inftance,
Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest. Clo. Wilt thou reft damn'd? God help thee, fhallow man; God make incifion in thee, thou art raw.
Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer, I earn that I eat; get that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happinefs; glad of other men's good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is, to fee my ewes graze, and my lambs fuck.
Clo. That is another fimple fin in you, to bring the ewes and the rams together; and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle; to be a bawd to a bell-weather; and to betray a fhe-lamb of a twelvemonth to a crooked-pated old cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be'ft not damn'd for this, the devil himself will have no fhepherds; I cannot fee elfe how thou shouldst 'scape. .
Cor. Here comes young Mr. Ganimed, my new miftrefs's brother.
Enter Rofalind, with a paper.
Rof. From the east to western Inde,
Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
Are but black to Rofalind..
Let no face be kept in mind,
But the face of Rosalind.
Clo. I'll rhime you fo, eight years together; dinners, and fuppers, and fleeping hours excepted: it is the right butter-women's rank to market.
Rof. Out, fool!
f the cat will after kind,
They, that reap, muft fbeaf and bind
He that fweeteft rofe will find,
Muft find love's prick, and Rofalind.
This is the very falfe gallop of verfes; why do you infect yourself with them?
Rof. Peace, you dull fool, I found them on a tree.
Rof. I'll graff it with you, and then I fhall graff it with a medler; then it will be the earlieft fruit i'th' country; for you will be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medler.
Clo. You have faid; but whether wifely or no, let the foreft judge.
Enter Celia, with a writing.
Rof. Peace, here comes my fifter reading; ftand afide.
Cel. Why should this a Defert be,
'Twixt the fouls of friend and friend;
But upon the faireft boughs,
Or at ev'ry fentence end,
Will I Rofalinda write;
Sad Lucretia's modefty.
By heav'nly fynod was devis'd;
To have the touches deareft priz'd.
Heav'n would that he thefe gifts should have,
Rof. O moft gentle Jupiter!
what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cry'd, have patience, good people?
Cel. How now? back-friends! fhepherd, go off a little go with him, firrah.
Clo. Come, fhepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; tho' not with bag and baggage, yet with ferip and fcrippage. [Exeunt Corin and Clown.
Cel. Didft thou hear these verses? Rof. O yes, I heard them all, and more too; for fome of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear.
Cel. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses. Rof. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the verse, and therefore ftood lamely in the verse.
Cel. But didst thou hear without wondring, how thy name should be hang'd and carv'd upon these trees ?
Rof. I was feven of the nine days out of wonder, before you came; for, look here, what I found on a palm-.