Iaq. And you will not be answer'd with reason,
I must dye

   Du.Sen. What would you haue?
Your gentlenesse shall force, more then your force
Moue vs to gentlenesse

   Orl. I almost die for food, and let me haue it

   Du.Sen. Sit downe and feed, & welcom to our table
  Orl. Speake you so gently? Pardon me I pray you,
I thought that all things had bin sauage heere,
And therefore put I on the countenance
Of sterne command'ment. But what ere you are
That in this desert inaccessible,
Vnder the shade of melancholly boughes,
Loose, and neglect the creeping houres of time:
If euer you haue look'd on better dayes:
If euer beene where bels haue knoll'd to Church:
If euer sate at any good mans feast:
If euer from your eye-lids wip'd a teare,
And know what 'tis to pittie, and be pittied:
Let gentlenesse my strong enforcement be,
In the which hope, I blush, and hide my Sword

   Du.Sen. True is it, that we haue seene better dayes,
And haue with holy bell bin knowld to Church,
And sat at good mens feasts, and wip'd our eies
Of drops, that sacred pity hath engendred:
And therefore sit you downe in gentlenesse,
And take vpon command, what helpe we haue
That to your wanting may be ministred

   Orl. Then but forbeare your food a little while:
Whiles (like a Doe) I go to finde my Fawne,
And giue it food. There is an old poore man,
Who after me, hath many a weary steppe
Limpt in pure loue: till he be first suffic'd,
Opprest with two weake euils, age, and hunger,
I will not touch a bit

   Duke Sen. Go finde him out,
And we will nothing waste till you returne

   Orl. I thanke ye, and be blest for your good comfort

   Du.Sen. Thou seest, we are not all alone vnhappie:
This wide and vniuersall Theater
Presents more wofull Pageants then the Sceane
Wherein we play in

   Ia. All the world's a stage,
And all the men and women, meerely Players;
They haue their Exits and their Entrances,
And one man in his time playes many parts,
His Acts being seuen ages. At first the Infant,
Mewling, and puking in the Nurses armes:
Then, the whining Schoole-boy with his Satchell
And shining morning face, creeping like snaile
Vnwillingly to schoole. And then the Louer,
Sighing like Furnace, with a wofull ballad
Made to his Mistresse eye-brow. Then, a Soldier,
Full of strange oaths, and bearded like the Pard,
Ielous in honor, sodaine, and quicke in quarrell,
Seeking the bubble Reputation
Euen in the Canons mouth: And then, the Iustice
In faire round belly, with good Capon lin'd,
With eyes seuere, and beard of formall cut,
Full of wise sawes, and moderne instances,
And so he playes his part. The sixt age shifts
Into the leane and slipper'd Pantaloone,
With spectacles on nose, and pouch on side,
His youthfull hose well sau'd, a world too wide,
For his shrunke shanke, and his bigge manly voice,
Turning againe toward childish trebble pipes,
And whistles in his sound. Last Scene of all,
That ends this strange euentfull historie,
Is second childishnesse, and meere obliuion,
Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans euery thing.
Enter Orlando with Adam.

  Du.Sen. Welcome: set downe your venerable burthen,
and let him feede

   Orl. I thanke you most for him

   Ad. So had you neede,
I scarce can speake to thanke you for my selfe

   Du.Sen. Welcome, fall too: I wil not trouble you,
As yet to question you about your fortunes:
Giue vs some Musicke, and good Cozen, sing.

Song.

Blow, blow, thou winter winde,
Thou art not so vnkinde, as mans ingratitude
Thy tooth is not so keene, because thou art not seene,
although thy breath be rude.
Heigh ho, sing heigh ho, vnto the greene holly,
Most frendship, is fayning; most Louing, meere folly:
The heigh ho, the holly,
This Life is most iolly.
Freize, freize, thou bitter skie that dost not bight so nigh
as benefitts forgot:
Though thou the waters warpe, thy sting is not so sharpe,
as freind remembred not.
Heigh ho, sing, &c

   Duke Sen. If that you were the good Sir Rowlands son,
As you haue whisper'd faithfully you were,
And as mine eye doth his effigies witnesse,
Most truly limn'd, and liuing in your face,
Be truly welcome hither: I am the Duke
That lou'd your Father, the residue of your fortune,
Go to my Caue, and tell mee. Good old man,
Thou art right welcome, as thy masters is:
Support him by the arme: giue me your hand,
And let me all your fortunes vnderstand.

Exeunt.


Actus Tertius. Scena Prima.

Enter Duke, Lords, & Oliuer.

  Du. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be:
But were I not the better part made mercie,
I should not seeke an absent argument
Of my reuenge, thou present: but looke to it,
Finde out thy brother wheresoere he is,
Seeke him with Candle: bring him dead, or liuing
Within this tweluemonth, or turne thou no more
To seeke a liuing in our Territorie.
Thy Lands and all things that thou dost call thine,
Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands,
Till thou canst quit thee by thy brothers mouth,
Of what we thinke against thee

   Ol. Oh that your Highnesse knew my heart in this:
I neuer lou'd my brother in my life

   Duke. More villaine thou. Well push him out of dores
And let my officers of such a nature
Make an extent vpon his house and Lands:
Do this expediently, and turne him going.

Exeunt.

Scena Secunda.

Enter Orlando.

  Orl. Hang there my verse, in witnesse of my loue,
And thou thrice crowned Queene of night suruey
With thy chaste eye, from thy pale spheare aboue
Thy Huntresse name, that my full life doth sway.
O Rosalind, these Trees shall be my Bookes,
And in their barkes my thoughts Ile charracter,
That euerie eye, which in this Forrest lookes,
Shall see thy vertue witnest euery where.
Run, run Orlando, carue on euery Tree,
The faire, the chaste, and vnexpressiue shee.

Exit

Enter Corin & Clowne.

  Co. And how like you this shepherds life Mr Touchstone?
  Clow. Truely Shepheard, in respect of it selfe, it is a
good life; but in respect that it is a shepheards life, it is
naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it verie well:
but in respect that it is priuate, it is a very vild life. Now
in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth mee well: but in
respect it is not in the Court, it is tedious. As it is a spare
life (looke you) it fits my humor well: but as there is no
more plentie in it, it goes much against my stomacke.
Has't any Philosophie in thee shepheard?
  Cor. No more, but that I know the more one sickens,
the worse at ease he is: and that hee that wants money,
meanes, and content, is without three good frends. That
the propertie of raine is to wet, and fire to burne: That
good pasture makes fat sheepe: and that a great cause of
the night, is lacke of the Sunne: That hee that hath learned
no wit by Nature, nor Art, may complaine of good
breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred

   Clo. Such a one is a naturall Philosopher:
Was't euer in Court, Shepheard?
  Cor. No truly

   Clo. Then thou art damn'd

   Cor. Nay, I hope

   Clo. Truly thou art damn'd, like an ill roasted Egge,
all on one side

   Cor. For not being at Court? your reason

   Clo. Why, if thou neuer was't at Court, thou neuer
saw'st good manners: if thou neuer saw'st good maners,
then thy manners must be wicked, and wickednes is sin,
and sinne is damnation: Thou art in a parlous state shepheard

   Cor. Not a whit Touchstone, those that are good maners
at the Court, are as ridiculous in the Countrey, as
the behauiour of the Countrie is most mockeable at the
Court. You told me, you salute not at the Court, but
you kisse your hands; that courtesie would be vncleanlie
if Courtiers were shepheards

   Clo. Instance, briefly: come, instance

   Cor. Why we are still handling our Ewes, and their
Fels you know are greasie

   Clo. Why do not your Courtiers hands sweate? and
is not the grease of a Mutton, as wholesome as the sweat
of a man? Shallow, shallow: A better instance I say:
Come

   Cor. Besides, our hands are hard

   Clo. Your lips wil feele them the sooner. Shallow agen:
a more sounder instance, come

   Cor. And they are often tarr'd ouer, with the surgery
of our sheepe: and would you haue vs kisse Tarre? The
Courtiers hands are perfum'd with Ciuet

   Clo. Most shallow man: Thou wormes meate in respect
of a good peece of flesh indeed: learne of the wise
and perpend: Ciuet is of a baser birth then Tarre, the
verie vncleanly fluxe of a Cat. Mend the instance Shepheard

   Cor. You haue too Courtly a wit, for me, Ile rest

   Clo. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God helpe thee shallow
man: God make incision in thee, thou art raw

   Cor. Sir, I am a true Labourer, I earne that I eate: get
that I weare; owe no man hate, enuie no mans happinesse:
glad of other mens good content with my harme:
and the greatest of my pride, is to see my Ewes graze, &
my Lambes sucke

   Clo. That is another simple sinne in you, to bring the
Ewes and the Rammes together, and to offer to get your
liuing, by the copulation of Cattle, to be bawd to a Belweather,
and to betray a shee-Lambe of a tweluemonth
to a crooked-pated olde Cuckoldly Ramme, out of all
reasonable match. If thou bee'st not damn'd for this, the
diuell himselfe will haue no shepherds, I cannot see else
how thou shouldst scape

   Cor. Heere comes yong Mr Ganimed, my new Mistrisses
Brother.
Enter Rosalind

   Ros. From the east to westerne Inde,
no iewel is like Rosalinde,
Hir worth being mounted on the winde,
through all the world beares Rosalinde.
All the pictures fairest Linde,
are but blacke to Rosalinde:
Let no face bee kept in mind,
but the faire of Rosalinde

   Clo. Ile rime you so, eight yeares together; dinners,
and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted: it is the right
Butter-womens ranke to Market

   Ros. Out Foole

   Clo. For a taste.
If a Hart doe lacke a Hinde,
Let him seeke out Rosalinde:
If the Cat will after kinde,
so be sure will Rosalinde:
Wintred garments must be linde,
so must slender Rosalinde:
They that reap must sheafe and binde,
then to cart with Rosalinde.
Sweetest nut, hath sowrest rinde,
such a nut is Rosalinde.
He that sweetest rose will finde,
must finde Loues pricke, & Rosalinde.
This is the verie false gallop of Verses, why doe you infect
your selfe with them?
  Ros. Peace you dull foole, I found them on a tree

   Clo. Truely the tree yeelds bad fruite

   Ros. Ile graffe it with you, and then I shall graffe it
with a Medler: then it will be the earliest fruit i'th country:
for you'l be rotten ere you bee halfe ripe, and that's
the right vertue of the Medler

   Clo. You haue said: but whether wisely or no, let the
Forrest iudge.
Enter Celia with a writing.

  Ros. Peace, here comes my sister reading, stand aside

   Cel. Why should this Desert bee,
for it is vnpeopled? Noe:
Tonges Ile hang on euerie tree,
that shall ciuill sayings shoe.
Some, how briefe the Life of man
runs his erring pilgrimage,
That the stretching of a span,
buckles in his summe of age.
Some of violated vowes,
twixt the soules of friend, and friend:
But vpon the fairest bowes,
or at euerie sentence end;
Will I Rosalinda write,
teaching all that reade, to know
The quintessence of euerie sprite,
heauen would in little show.
Therefore heauen Nature charg'd,
that one bodie should be fill'd
With all Graces wide enlarg'd,
nature presently distill'd
Helens cheeke, but not his heart,
Cleopatra's Maiestie:
Attalanta's better part,
sad Lucrecia's Modestie.
Thus Rosalinde of manie parts,
by Heauenly Synode was deuis'd,
Of manie faces, eyes, and hearts,
to haue the touches deerest pris'd.
Heauen would that shee these gifts should haue,
and I to liue and die her slaue

   Ros. O most gentle Iupiter, what tedious homilie of
Loue haue you wearied your parishioners withall, and
neuer cri'de, haue patience good people

   Cel. How now backe friends: Shepheard, go off a little:
go with him sirrah

   Clo. Come Shepheard, let vs make an honorable retreit,
though not with bagge and baggage, yet with
scrip and scrippage.
Enter.

  Cel. Didst thou heare these verses?
  Ros. O yes, I heard them all, and more too, for some
of them had in them more feete then the Verses would
beare

   Cel. That's no matter: the feet might beare y verses

   Ros. I, but the feet were lame, and could not beare
themselues without the verse, and therefore stood lamely
in the verse

   Cel. But didst thou heare without wondering, how
thy name should be hang'd and carued vpon these trees?
  Ros. I was seuen of the nine daies out of the wonder,
before you came: for looke heere what I found on a
Palme tree; I was neuer so berim'd since Pythagoras time
that I was an Irish Rat, which I can hardly remember

   Cel. Tro you, who hath done this?
  Ros. Is it a man?
  Cel. And a chaine that you once wore about his neck:
change you colour?
  Ros. I pre'thee who?
  Cel. O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends to
meete; but Mountaines may bee remoou'd with Earthquakes,
and so encounter

   Ros. Nay, but who is it?
  Cel. Is it possible?
  Ros. Nay, I pre'thee now, with most petitionary vehemence,
tell me who it is

   Cel. O wonderfull, wonderfull, and most wonderfull
wonderfull, and yet againe wonderful, and after that out
of all hooping

   Ros. Good my complection, dost thou think though
I am caparison'd like a man, I haue a doublet and hose in
my disposition? One inch of delay more, is a South-sea
of discouerie. I pre'thee tell me, who is it quickely, and
speake apace: I would thou couldst stammer, that thou
might'st powre this conceal'd man out of thy mouth, as
Wine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd bottle: either too
much at once, or none at all. I pre'thee take the Corke
out of thy mouth, that I may drinke thy tydings

   Cel. So you may put a man in your belly

   Ros. Is he of Gods 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

   Ros. Why God will send more, if the man will bee
thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou
delay me not the knowledge of his chin

   Cel. It is yong Orlando, that tript vp the Wrastlers
heeles, and your heart, both in an instant

   Ros. Nay, but the diuell take mocking: speake sadde
brow, and true maid

   Cel. I'faith (Coz) tis he

   Ros. Orlando?
  Cel. Orlando

   Ros. Alas the day, what shall I do with my doublet &
hose? What did he when thou saw'st him? What sayde
he? How look'd he? Wherein went he? What makes hee
heere? Did he aske for me? Where remaines he? How
parted he with thee? And when shalt thou see him againe?
Answer me in one word

   Cel. You must borrow me Gargantuas mouth first:
'tis a Word too great for any mouth of this Ages size, to
say I and no, to these particulars, is more then to answer
in a Catechisme

   Ros. But doth he know that I am in this Forrest, and
in mans apparrell? Looks he as freshly, as he did the day
he Wrastled?
  Cel. It is as easie to count Atomies as to resolue the
propositions of a Louer: but take a taste of my finding
him, and rellish it with good obseruance. I found him
vnder a tree like a drop'd Acorne

   Ros. It may wel be cal'd Ioues tree, when it droppes
forth fruite

   Cel. Giue me audience, good Madam

   Ros. Proceed

   Cel. There lay hee stretch'd along like a Wounded
knight

   Ros. Though it be pittie to see such a sight, it well
becomes the ground

   Cel. Cry holla, to the tongue, I prethee: it curuettes
vnseasonably. He was furnish'd like a Hunter

   Ros. O ominous, he comes to kill my Hart

   Cel. I would sing my song without a burthen, thou
bring'st me out of tune

   Ros. Do you not know I am a woman, when I thinke,
I must speake: sweet, say on.
Enter Orlando & Iaques.

  Cel. You bring me out. Soft, comes he not heere?
  Ros. 'Tis he, slinke by, and note him

   Iaq. I thanke you for your company, but good faith
I had as liefe haue beene my selfe alone

   Orl. And so had I: but yet for fashion sake
I thanke you too, for your societie

   Iaq. God buy you, let's meet as little as we can

   Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers

   Iaq. I pray you marre no more trees with Writing
Loue-songs in their barkes

   Orl. I pray you marre no moe of my verses with reading
them ill-fauouredly

   Iaq. Rosalinde is your loues name?
  Orl. Yes, Iust

   Iaq. I do not like her name

   Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you when she
was christen'd

   Iaq. What stature is she of?
  Orl. Iust as high as my heart

   Iaq. You are ful of prety answers: haue you not bin acquainted
with goldsmiths wiues, & cond the[m] out of rings
  Orl. Not so: but I answer you right painted cloath,
from whence you haue studied your questions

   Iaq. You haue a nimble wit; I thinke 'twas made of
Attalanta's heeles. Will you sitte downe with me, and
wee two, will raile against our Mistris the world, and all
our miserie

   Orl. I wil chide no breather in the world but my selfe
against whom I know most faults

   Iaq. The worst fault you haue, is to be in loue

   Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change, for your best vertue:
I am wearie of you

   Iaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a Foole, when I
found you

   Orl. He is drown'd in the brooke, looke but in, and
you shall see him

   Iaq. There I shal see mine owne figure

   Orl. Which I take to be either a foole, or a Cipher

   Iaq. Ile tarrie no longer with you, farewell good signior
Loue

   Orl. I am glad of your departure: Adieu good Monsieur
Melancholly

   Ros. I wil speake to him like a sawcie Lacky, and vnder
that habit play the knaue with him, do you hear Forrester

   Orl. Verie wel, what would you?
  Ros. I pray you, what i'st a clocke?
  Orl. You should aske me what time o' day: there's no
clocke in the Forrest

   Ros. Then there is no true Louer in the Forrest, else
sighing euerie minute, and groaning euerie houre wold
detect the lazie foot of time, as wel as a clocke

   Orl. And why not the swift foote of time? Had not
that bin as proper?
  Ros. By no meanes sir; Time trauels in diuers paces,
with diuers persons: Ile tel you who Time ambles withall,
who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal,
and who he stands stil withall

   Orl. I prethee, who doth he trot withal?
  Ros. Marry he trots hard with a yong maid, between
the contract of her marriage, and the day it is solemnizd:
if the interim be but a sennight, Times pace is so hard,
that it seemes the length of seuen yeare

   Orl. Who ambles Time withal?
  Ros. With a Priest that lacks Latine, and a rich man
that hath not the Gowt: for the one sleepes easily because
he cannot study, and the other liues merrily, because
he feeles no paine: the one lacking the burthen of
leane and wasteful Learning; the other knowing no burthen
of heauie tedious penurie. These Time ambles
withal

   Orl. Who doth he gallop withal?
  Ros. With a theefe to the gallowes: for though hee
go as softly as foot can fall, he thinkes himselfe too soon
there

   Orl. Who staies it stil withal?
  Ros. With Lawiers in the vacation: for they sleepe
betweene Terme and Terme, and then they perceiue not
how time moues

   Orl. Where dwel you prettie youth?
  Ros. With this Shepheardesse my sister: heere in the
skirts of the Forrest, like fringe vpon a petticoat

   Orl. Are you natiue of this place?
  Ros. As the Conie that you see dwell where shee is
kindled

   Orl. Your accent is something finer, then you could
purchase in so remoued a dwelling

   Ros. I haue bin told so of many: but indeed, an olde
religious Vnckle of mine taught me to speake, who was
in his youth an inland man, one that knew Courtship too
well: for there he fel in loue. I haue heard him read many
Lectors against it, and I thanke God, I am not a Woman
to be touch'd with so many giddie offences as hee
hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal

   Orl. Can you remember any of the principall euils,
that he laid to the charge of women?
  Ros. There were none principal, they were all like
one another, as halfepence are, euerie one fault seeming
monstrous, til his fellow-fault came to match it

   Orl. I prethee recount some of them

   Ros. No: I wil not cast away my physick, but on those
that are sicke. There is a man haunts the Forrest, that abuses
our yong plants with caruing Rosalinde on their
barkes; hangs Oades vpon Hauthornes, and Elegies on
brambles; all (forsooth) defying the name of Rosalinde.
If I could meet that Fancie-monger, I would giue him
some good counsel, for he seemes to haue the Quotidian
of Loue vpon him

   Orl. I am he that is so Loue-shak'd, I pray you tel
me your remedie

   Ros. There is none of my Vnckles markes vpon you:
he taught me how to know a man in loue: in which cage
of rushes, I am sure you art not prisoner

   Orl. What were his markes?
  Ros. A leane cheeke, which you haue not: a blew eie
and sunken, which you haue not: an vnquestionable spirit,
which you haue not: a beard neglected, which you
haue not: (but I pardon you for that, for simply your hauing
in beard, is a yonger brothers reuennew) then your
hose should be vngarter'd, your bonnet vnbanded, your
sleeue vnbutton'd, your shoo vnti'de, and euerie thing
about you, demonstrating a carelesse desolation: but you
are no such man; you are rather point deuice in your
accoustrements,
as louing your selfe, then seeming the Louer
of any other

   Orl. Faire youth, I would I could make thee beleeue I Loue

   Ros. Me beleeue it? You may assoone make her that
you Loue beleeue it, which I warrant she is apter to do,
then to confesse she do's: that is one of the points, in the
which women stil giue the lie to their consciences. But
in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the
Trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired?
  Orl. I sweare to thee youth, by the white hand of
Rosalind, I am that he, that vnfortunate he

   Ros. But are you so much in loue, as your rimes speak?
  Orl. Neither rime nor reason can expresse how much

   Ros. Loue is meerely a madnesse, and I tel you, deserues
as wel a darke house, and a whip, as madmen do:
and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured, is
that the Lunacie is so ordinarie, that the whippers are in
loue too: yet I professe curing it by counsel

   Orl. Did you euer cure any so?
  Ros. Yes one, and in this manner. Hee was to imagine
me his Loue, his Mistris: and I set him euerie day
to woe me. At which time would I, being but a moonish
youth, greeue, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and
liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, ful
of teares, full of smiles; for euerie passion something, and
for no passion truly any thing, as boyes and women are
for the most part, cattle of this colour: would now like
him, now loath him: then entertaine him, then forswear
him: now weepe for him, then spit at him; that I draue
my Sutor from his mad humor of loue, to a liuing humor
of madnes, w was to forsweare the ful stream of y world,
and to liue in a nooke meerly Monastick: and thus I cur'd
him, and this way wil I take vpon mee to wash your Liuer
as cleane as a sound sheepes heart, that there shal not
be one spot of Loue in't

   Orl. I would not be cured, youth

   Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind,
and come euerie day to my Coat, and woe me

   Orlan. Now by the faith of my loue, I will; Tel me
where it is

   Ros. Go with me to it, and Ile shew it you: and by
the way, you shal tell me, where in the Forrest you liue:
Wil you go?
  Orl. With all my heart, good youth

   Ros. Nay, you must call mee Rosalind: Come sister,
will you go?

Exeunt.


Scoena Tertia.

Enter Clowne, Audrey, & Iaques.

  Clo. Come apace good Audrey, I wil fetch vp your
Goates, Audrey: and how Audrey am I the man yet?
Doth my simple feature content you?
  Aud. Your features, Lord warrant vs: what features?
  Clo. I am heere with thee, and thy Goats, as the most
capricious Poet honest Ouid was among the Gothes

   Iaq. O knowledge ill inhabited, worse then Ioue in
a thatch'd house

   Clo. When a mans verses cannot be vnderstood, nor
a mans good wit seconded with the forward childe, vnderstanding:
it strikes a man more dead then a great reckoning
in a little roome: truly, I would the Gods hadde
made thee poeticall

   Aud. I do not know what Poetical is: is it honest in
deed and word: is it a true thing?
  Clo. No trulie: for the truest poetrie is the most faining,
and Louers are giuen to Poetrie: and what they
sweare in Poetrie, may be said as Louers, they do feigne

   Aud. Do you wish then that the Gods had made me
Poeticall?
  Clow. I do truly: for thou swear'st to me thou art honest:
Now if thou wert a Poet, I might haue some hope
thou didst feigne

   Aud. Would you not haue me honest?
  Clo. No truly, vnlesse thou wert hard fauour'd: for
honestie coupled to beautie, is to haue Honie a sawce to
Sugar

   Iaq. A materiall foole

   Aud. Well, I am not faire, and therefore I pray the
Gods make me honest

   Clo. Truly, and to cast away honestie vppon a foule
slut, were to put good meate into an vncleane dish

   Aud. I am not a slut, though I thanke the Goddes I
am foule

   Clo. Well, praised be the Gods, for thy foulnesse; sluttishnesse
may come heereafter. But be it, as it may bee,
I wil marrie thee: and to that end, I haue bin with Sir
Oliuer Mar-text, the Vicar of the next village, who hath
promis'd to meete me in this place of the Forrest, and to
couple vs

   Iaq. I would faine see this meeting

   Aud. Wel, the Gods giue vs ioy

   Clo. Amen. A man may if he were of a fearful heart,
stagger in this attempt: for heere wee haue no Temple
but the wood, no assembly but horne-beasts. But what
though? Courage. As hornes are odious, they are necessarie.
It is said, many a man knowes no end of his goods;
right: Many a man has good Hornes, and knows no end
of them. Well, that is the dowrie of his wife, 'tis none
of his owne getting; hornes, euen so poore men alone:
No, no, the noblest Deere hath them as huge as the Rascall:
Is the single man therefore blessed? No, as a wall'd
Towne is more worthier then a village, so is the forehead
of a married man, more honourable then the bare
brow of a Batcheller: and by how much defence is better
then no skill, by so much is a horne more precious
then to want.
Enter Sir Oliuer Mar-text.

Heere comes Sir Oliuer: Sir Oliuer Mar-text you are
wel met. Will you dispatch vs heere vnder this tree, or
shal we go with you to your Chappell?
  Ol. Is there none heere to giue the woman?
  Clo. I wil not take her on guift of any man

   Ol. Truly she must be giuen, or the marriage is not
lawfull

   Iaq. Proceed, proceede: Ile giue her

   Clo. Good euen good Mr what ye cal't: how do you
Sir, you are verie well met: goddild you for your last
companie, I am verie glad to see you, euen a toy in hand
heere Sir: Nay, pray be couer'd

   Iaq. Wil you be married, Motley?
  Clo. As the Oxe hath his bow sir, the horse his curb,
and the Falcon her bels, so man hath his desires, and as
Pigeons bill, so wedlocke would be nibling

   Iaq. And wil you (being a man of your breeding) be
married vnder a bush like a begger? Get you to church,
and haue a good Priest that can tel you what marriage is,
this fellow wil but ioyne you together, as they ioyne
Wainscot, then one of you wil proue a shrunke pannell,
and like greene timber, warpe, warpe

   Clo. I am not in the minde, but I were better to bee
married of him then of another, for he is not like to marrie
me wel: and not being wel married, it wil be a good
excuse for me heereafter, to leaue my wife

   Iaq. Goe thou with mee,
And let me counsel thee

   Ol. Come sweete Audrey,
We must be married, or we must liue in baudrey:
Farewel good Mr Oliuer: Not O sweet Oliuer, O braue
Oliuer leaue me not behind thee: But winde away, bee
gone I say, I wil not to wedding with thee

   Ol. 'Tis no matter; Ne're a fantastical knaue of them
all shal flout me out of my calling.

Exeunt.

Scoena Quarta.

Enter Rosalind & Celia.

  Ros. Neuer talke to me, I wil weepe

   Cel. Do I prethee, but yet haue the grace to consider,
that teares do not become a man

   Ros. But haue I not cause to weepe?
  Cel. As good cause as one would desire,
Therefore weepe

   Ros. His very haire
Is of the dissembling colour

   Cel. Something browner then Iudasses:
Marrie his kisses are Iudasses owne children

   Ros. I'faith his haire is of a good colour

   Cel. An excellent colour:
Your Chessenut was euer the onely colour:
  Ros. And his kissing is as ful of sanctitie,
As the touch of holy bread

   Cel. Hee hath bought a paire of cast lips of Diana: a
Nun of winters sisterhood kisses not more religiouslie,
the very yce of chastity is in them

   Rosa. But why did hee sweare hee would come this
morning, and comes not?
  Cel. Nay certainly there is no truth in him

   Ros. Doe you thinke so?
  Cel. Yes, I thinke he is not a picke purse, nor a horse-stealer,
but for his verity in loue, I doe thinke him as
concaue as a couered goblet, or a Worme-eaten nut

   Ros. Not true in loue?
  Cel. Yes, when he is in, but I thinke he is not in

   Ros. You haue heard him sweare downright he was

   Cel. Was, is not is: besides, the oath of Louer is no
stronger then the word of a Tapster, they are both the
confirmer of false reckonings, he attends here in the forrest
on the Duke your father

   Ros. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question
with him: he askt me of what parentage I was; I
told him of as good as he, so he laugh'd and let mee goe.
But what talke wee of Fathers, when there is such a man
as Orlando?
  Cel. O that's a braue man, hee writes braue verses,
speakes braue words, sweares braue oathes, and breakes
them brauely, quite trauers athwart the heart of his louer,
as a puisny Tilter, y spurs his horse but on one side,
breakes his staffe like a noble goose; but all's braue that
youth mounts, and folly guides: who comes heere?
Enter Corin.

  Corin. Mistresse and Master, you haue oft enquired
After the Shepheard that complain'd of loue,
Who you saw sitting by me on the Turph,
Praising the proud disdainfull Shepherdesse
That was his Mistresse

   Cel. Well: and what of him?
  Cor. If you will see a pageant truely plaid
Betweene the pale complexion of true Loue,
And the red glowe of scorne and prowd disdaine,
Goe hence a little, and I shall conduct you
If you will marke it

   Ros. O come, let vs remoue,
The sight of Louers feedeth those in loue:
Bring vs to this sight, and you shall say
Ile proue a busie actor in their play.

Exeunt.


Scena Quinta.


Enter Siluius and Phebe.

  Sil. Sweet Phebe doe not scorne me, do not Phebe
Say that you loue me not, but say not so
In bitternesse; the common executioner
Whose heart th' accustom'd sight of death makes hard
Falls not the axe vpon the humbled neck,
But first begs pardon: will you sterner be
Then he that dies and liues by bloody drops?
Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin.

  Phe. I would not be thy executioner,
I flye thee, for I would not iniure thee:
Thou tellst me there is murder in mine eye,
'Tis pretty sure, and very probable,
That eyes that are the frailst, and softest things,
Who shut their coward gates on atomyes,
Should be called tyrants, butchers, murtherers.
Now I doe frowne on thee with all my heart,
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee:
Now counterfeit to swound, why now fall downe,
Or if thou canst not, oh for shame, for shame,
Lye not, to say mine eyes are murtherers:
Now shew the wound mine eye hath made in thee,
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remaines
Some scarre of it: Leane vpon a rush
The Cicatrice and capable impressure
Thy palme some moment keepes: but now mine eyes
Which I haue darted at thee, hurt thee not,
Nor I am sure there is no force in eyes
That can doe hurt

   Sil. O deere Phebe,
If euer (as that euer may be neere)
You meet in some fresh cheeke the power of fancie,
Then shall you know the wounds inuisible
That Loues keene arrows make

   Phe. But till that time
Come not thou neere me: and when that time comes,
Afflict me with thy mockes, pitty me not,
As till that time I shall not pitty thee

   Ros. And why I pray you? who might be your mother
That you insult, exult, and all at once
Ouer the wretched? what though you haue no beauty
As by my faith, I see no more in you
Then without Candle may goe darke to bed:
Must you be therefore prowd and pittilesse?
Why what meanes this? why do you looke on me?
I see no more in you then in the ordinary
Of Natures sale-worke? 'ods my little life,
I thinke she meanes to tangle my eies too:
No faith proud Mistresse, hope not after it,
'Tis not your inkie browes, your blacke silke haire,
Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheeke of creame
That can entame my spirits to your worship:
You foolish Shepheard, wherefore do you follow her
Like foggy South, puffing with winde and raine,
You are a thousand times a properer man
Then she a woman. 'Tis such fooles as you
That makes the world full of ill-fauourd children:
'Tis not her glasse, but you that flatters her,
And out of you she sees her selfe more proper
Then any of her lineaments can show her:
But Mistris, know your selfe, downe on your knees
And thanke heauen, fasting, for a good mans loue;
For I must tell you friendly in your eare,
Sell when you can, you are not for all markets:
Cry the man mercy, loue him, take his offer,
Foule is most foule, being foule to be a scoffer.
So take her to thee Shepheard, fareyouwell

   Phe. Sweet youth, I pray you chide a yere together,
I had rather here you chide, then this man wooe

   Ros. Hees falne in loue with your foulnesse, & shee'll
Fall in loue with my anger. If it be so, as fast
As she answeres thee with frowning lookes, ile sauce
Her with bitter words: why looke you so vpon me?
  Phe. For no ill will I beare you

   Ros. I pray you do not fall in loue with mee,
For I am falser then vowes made in wine:
Besides, I like you not: if you will know my house,
'Tis at the tufft of Oliues, here hard by:
Will you goe Sister? Shepheard ply her hard:
Come Sister: Shepheardesse, looke on him better
And be not proud, though all the world could see,
None could be so abus'd in sight as hee.
Come, to our flocke,
Enter.

  Phe. Dead Shepheard, now I find thy saw of might,
Who euer lov'd, that lou'd not at first sight?
  Sil. Sweet Phebe

   Phe. Hah: what saist thou Siluius?
  Sil. Sweet Phebe pitty me

   Phe. Why I am sorry for thee gentle Siluius

   Sil. Where euer sorrow is, reliefe would be:
If you doe sorrow at my griefe in loue,
By giuing loue your sorrow, and my griefe
Were both extermin'd

   Phe. Thou hast my loue, is not that neighbourly?
  Sil. I would haue you

   Phe. Why that were couetousnesse:
Siluius; the time was, that I hated thee;
And yet it is not, that I beare thee loue,
But since that thou canst talke of loue so well,
Thy company, which erst was irkesome to me
I will endure; and Ile employ thee too:
But doe not looke for further recompence
Then thine owne gladnesse, that thou art employd

   Sil. So holy, and so perfect is my loue,
And I in such a pouerty of grace,
That I shall thinke it a most plenteous crop
To gleane the broken eares after the man
That the maine haruest reapes: loose now and then
A scattred smile, and that Ile liue vpon

   Phe. Knowst thou the youth that spoke to mee yerewhile?
  Sil. Not very well, but I haue met him oft,
And he hath bought the Cottage and the bounds
That the old Carlot once was Master of

   Phe. Thinke not I loue him, though I ask for him,
'Tis but a peeuish boy, yet he talkes well,
But what care I for words? yet words do well
When he that speakes them pleases those that heare:
It is a pretty youth, not very prettie,
But sure hee's proud, and yet his pride becomes him;
Hee'll make a proper man: the best thing in him
Is his complexion: and faster then his tongue
Did make offence, his eye did heale it vp:
He is not very tall, yet for his yeeres hee's tall:
His leg is but so so, and yet 'tis well:
There was a pretty rednesse in his lip,
A little riper, and more lustie red
Then that mixt in his cheeke: 'twas iust the difference
Betwixt the constant red, and mingled Damaske.
There be some women Siluius, had they markt him
In parcells as I did, would haue gone neere
To fall in loue with him: but for my part
I loue him not, nor hate him not: and yet
Haue more cause to hate him then to loue him,
For what had he to doe to chide at me?
He said mine eyes were black, and my haire blacke,
And now I am remembred, scorn'd at me:
I maruell why I answer'd not againe,
But that's all one: omittance is no quittance:
Ile write to him a very tanting Letter,
And thou shalt beare it, wilt thou Siluius?
  Sil. Phebe, with all my heart

   Phe. Ile write it strait:
The matter's in my head, and in my heart,
I will be bitter with him, and passing short;
Goe with me Siluius.

Exeunt.


Actus Quartus. Scena Prima.

Enter Rosalind, and Celia, and Iaques.

  Iaq. I prethee, pretty youth, let me better acquainted
with thee

   Ros They say you are a melancholly fellow

   Iaq. I am so: I doe loue it better then laughing

   Ros. Those that are in extremity of either, are abhominable
fellowes, and betray themselues to euery moderne
censure, worse then drunkards

   Iaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing

   Ros. Why then 'tis good to be a poste

   Iaq. I haue neither the Schollers melancholy, which
is emulation: nor the Musitians, which is fantasticall;
nor the Courtiers, which is proud: nor the Souldiers,
which is ambitious: nor the Lawiers, which is politick:
nor the Ladies, which is nice: nor the Louers, which
is all these: but it is a melancholy of mine owne, compounded
of many simples, extracted from many obiects,
and indeed the sundrie contemplation of my trauells, in
which by often rumination, wraps me in a most humorous
sadnesse

   Ros. A Traueller: by my faith you haue great reason
to be sad: I feare you haue sold your owne Lands,
to see other mens; then to haue seene much, and to haue
nothing, is to haue rich eyes and poore hands

   Iaq. Yes, I haue gain'd my experience.
Enter Orlando.

  Ros. And your experience makes you sad: I had rather
haue a foole to make me merrie, then experience to
make me sad, and to trauaile for it too

   Orl. Good day, and happinesse, deere Rosalind

   Iaq. Nay then God buy you, and you talke in blanke
verse

   Ros. Farewell Mounsieur Trauellor: looke you
lispe, and weare strange suites; disable all the benefits
of your owne Countrie: be out of loue with your
natiuitie, and almost chide God for making you that
countenance you are; or I will scarce thinke you haue
swam in a Gundello. Why how now Orlando, where
haue you bin all this while? you a louer? and you
serue me such another tricke, neuer come in my sight
more

   Orl. My faire Rosalind, I come within an houre of my
promise

   Ros. Breake an houres promise in loue? hee that
will diuide a minute into a thousand parts, and breake
but a part of the thousand part of a minute in the affairs
of loue, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapt
him oth' shoulder, but Ile warrant him heart hole

   Orl. Pardon me deere Rosalind

   Ros. Nay, and you be so tardie, come no more in my
sight, I had as liefe be woo'd of a Snaile

   Orl. Of a Snaile?
  Ros. I, of a Snaile: for though he comes slowly, hee
carries his house on his head; a better ioyncture I thinke
then you make a woman: besides, he brings his destinie
with him

   Orl. What's that?
  Ros. Why hornes: w such as you are faine to be beholding
to your wiues for: but he comes armed in his
fortune, and preuents the slander of his wife

   Orl. Vertue is no horne-maker: and my Rosalind is
vertuous

   Ros. And I am your Rosalind

   Cel. It pleases him to call you so: but he hath a Rosalind
of a better leere then you

   Ros. Come, wooe me, wooe mee: for now I am in a
holy-day humor, and like enough to consent: What
would you say to me now, and I were your verie, verie
Rosalind?
  Orl. I would kisse before I spoke

   Ros. Nay, you were better speake first, and when you
were grauel'd, for lacke of matter, you might take occasion
to kisse: verie good Orators when they are out,
they will spit, and for louers, lacking (God warne vs)
matter, the cleanliest shift is to kisse

   Orl. How if the kisse be denide?
  Ros. Then she puts you to entreatie, and there begins
new matter

   Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloued
Mistris?
  Ros. Marrie that should you if I were your Mistris,
or I should thinke my honestie ranker then my wit

   Orl. What, of my suite?
  Ros. Not out of your apparrell, and yet out of your
suite:
Am not I your Rosalind?
  Orl. I take some ioy to say you are, because I would
be talking of her

   Ros. Well, in her person, I say I will not haue you

   Orl. Then in mine owne person, I die

   Ros. No faith, die by Attorney: the poore world is
almost six thousand yeeres old, and in all this time there
was not anie man died in his owne person (videlicet) in
a loue cause: Troilous had his braines dash'd out with a
Grecian club, yet he did what hee could to die before,
and he is one of the patternes of loue. Leander, he would
haue liu'd manie a faire yeere though Hero had turn'd
Nun; if it had not bin for a hot Midsomer-night, for
(good youth) he went but forth to wash him in the Hellespont,
and being taken with the crampe, was droun'd,
and the foolish Chronoclers of that age, found it was
Hero of Cestos. But these are all lies, men haue died
from time to time, and wormes haue eaten them, but not
for loue

   Orl. I would not haue my right Rosalind of this mind,
for I protest her frowne might kill me

   Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a flie: but come,
now I will be your Rosalind in a more comming-on disposition:
and aske me what you will, I will grant it

   Orl. Then loue me Rosalind

   Ros. Yes faith will I, fridaies and saterdaies, and all

   Orl. And wilt thou haue me?
  Ros. I, and twentie such

   Orl. What saiest thou?
  Ros. Are you not good?
  Orl. I hope so

   Rosalind. Why then, can one desire too much of a
good thing: Come sister, you shall be the Priest, and
marrie vs: giue me your hand Orlando: What doe you
say sister?
  Orl. Pray thee marrie vs

   Cel. I cannot say the words

   Ros. You must begin, will you Orlando

   Cel. Goe too: wil you Orlando, haue to wife this Rosalind?
  Orl. I will

   Ros. I, but when?
  Orl. Why now, as fast as she can marrie vs

   Ros. Then you must say, I take thee Rosalind for
wife

   Orl. I take thee Rosalind for wife

   Ros. I might aske you for your Commission,
But I doe take thee Orlando for my husband: there's a
girle goes before the Priest, and certainely a Womans
thought runs before her actions

   Orl. So do all thoughts, they are wing'd

   Ros. Now tell me how long you would haue her, after
you haue possest her?
  Orl. For euer, and a day

   Ros. Say a day, without the euer: no, no Orlando, men
are Aprill when they woe, December when they wed:
Maides are May when they are maides, but the sky changes
when they are wiues: I will bee more iealous of
thee, then a Barbary cocke-pidgeon ouer his hen, more
clamorous then a Parrat against raine, more new-fangled
then an ape, more giddy in my desires, then a monkey:
I will weepe for nothing, like Diana in the Fountaine,
& I wil do that when you are dispos'd to be merry:
I will laugh like a Hyen, and that when thou art inclin'd
to sleepe

   Orl. But will my Rosalind doe so?
  Ros. By my life, she will doe as I doe

   Orl. O but she is wise

   Ros. Or else shee could not haue the wit to doe this:
the wiser, the waywarder: make the doores vpon a womans
wit, and it will out at the casement: shut that, and
'twill out at the key-hole: stop that, 'twill flie with the
smoake out at the chimney

   Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might
say, wit whether wil't?
  Ros. Nay, you might keepe that checke for it, till you
met your wiues wit going to your neighbours bed

   Orl. And what wit could wit haue, to excuse that?
  Rosa. Marry to say, she came to seeke you there: you
shall neuer take her without her answer, vnlesse you take
her without her tongue: o that woman that cannot
make her fault her husbands occasion, let her neuer nurse
her childe her selfe, for she will breed it like a foole

   Orl. For these two houres Rosalinde, I wil leaue thee

   Ros. Alas, deere loue, I cannot lacke thee two houres

   Orl. I must attend the Duke at dinner, by two a clock
I will be with thee againe

   Ros. I, goe your waies, goe your waies: I knew what
you would proue, my friends told mee as much, and I
thought no lesse: that flattering tongue of yours wonne
me: 'tis but one cast away, and so come death: two o'
clocke is your howre

   Orl. I, sweet Rosalind

   Ros. By my troth, and in good earnest, and so God
mend mee, and by all pretty oathes that are not dangerous,
if you breake one iot of your promise, or come one
minute behinde your houre, I will thinke you the most
patheticall breake-promise, and the most hollow louer,
and the most vnworthy of her you call Rosalinde, that
may bee chosen out of the grosse band of the vnfaithfull:
therefore beware my censure, and keep your promise

   Orl. With no lesse religion, then if thou wert indeed
my Rosalind: so adieu

   Ros. Well, Time is the olde Iustice that examines all
such offenders, and let time try: adieu.
Enter.

  Cel. You haue simply misus'd our sexe in your loue-prate:
we must haue your doublet and hose pluckt ouer
your head, and shew the world what the bird hath done
to her owne neast

   Ros. O coz, coz, coz: my pretty little coz, that thou
didst know how many fathome deepe I am in loue: but
it cannot bee sounded: my affection hath an vnknowne
bottome, like the Bay of Portugall

   Cel. Or rather bottomlesse, that as fast as you poure
affection in, it runs out

   Ros. No, that same wicked Bastard of Venus, that was
begot of thought, conceiu'd of spleene, and borne of
madnesse, that blinde rascally boy, that abuses euery
ones eyes, because his owne are out, let him bee iudge,
how deepe I am in loue: ile tell thee Aliena, I cannot be
out of the sight of Orlando: Ile goe finde a shadow, and
sigh till he come

   Cel. And Ile sleepe.

Exeunt.



Scena Secunda.

Enter Iaques and Lords, Forresters.

  Iaq. Which is he that killed the Deare?
  Lord. Sir, it was I

   Iaq. Let's present him to the Duke like a Romane
Conquerour, and it would doe well to set the Deares
horns vpon his head, for a branch of victory; haue you
no song Forrester for this purpose?
  Lord. Yes Sir

   Iaq. Sing it: 'tis no matter how it bee in tune, so it
make noyse enough.

Musicke, Song.

What shall he haue that kild the Deare?
His Leather skin, and hornes to weare:
Then sing him home, the rest shall beare this burthen;
Take thou no scorne to weare the horne,
It was a crest ere thou wast borne,
Thy fathers father wore it,
And thy father bore it,
The horne, the horne, the lusty horne,
Is not a thing to laugh to scorne.

Exeunt.


Scoena Tertia.

Enter Rosalind and Celia.

  Ros. How say you now, is it not past two a clock?
And heere much Orlando

   Cel. I warrant you, with pure loue, & troubled brain,
Enter Siluius.

He hath t'ane his bow and arrowes, and is gone forth
To sleepe: looke who comes heere

   Sil. My errand is to you, faire youth,
My gentle Phebe, did bid me giue you this:
I know not the contents, but as I guesse
By the sterne brow, and waspish action
Which she did vse, as she was writing of it,
It beares an angry tenure; pardon me,
I am but as a guiltlesse messenger

   Ros. Patience her selfe would startle at this letter,
And play the swaggerer, beare this, beare all:
Shee saies I am not faire, that I lacke manners,
She calls me proud, and that she could not loue me
Were man as rare as Phenix: 'od's my will,
Her loue is not the Hare that I doe hunt,
Why writes she so to me? well Shepheard, well,
This is a Letter of your owne deuice

   Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents,
Phebe did write it

   Ros. Come, come, you are a foole,
And turn'd into the extremity of loue.
I saw her hand, she has a leatherne hand,
A freestone coloured hand: I verily did thinke
That her old gloues were on, but twas her hands:
She has a huswiues hand, but that's no matter:
I say she neuer did inuent this letter,
This is a mans inuention, and his hand

   Sil. Sure it is hers

   Ros. Why, tis a boysterous and a cruell stile,
A stile for challengers: why, she defies me,
Like Turke to Christian: womens gentle braine
Could not drop forth such giant rude inuention,
Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect
Then in their countenance: will you heare the letter?
  Sil. So please you, for I neuer heard it yet:
Yet heard too much of Phebes crueltie

   Ros. She Phebes me: marke how the tyrant writes.

Read.

Art thou god, to Shepherd turn'd?
That a maidens heart hath burn'd.
Can a woman raile thus?
  Sil. Call you this railing?
  Ros.

Read.

Why, thy godhead laid a part,
War'st thou with a womans heart?
Did you euer heare such railing?
Whiles the eye of man did wooe me,
That could do no vengeance to me.
Meaning me a beast.
If the scorne of your bright eine
Haue power to raise such loue in mine,
Alacke, in me, what strange effect
Would they worke in milde aspect?
Whiles you chid me, I did loue,
How then might your praiers moue?
He that brings this loue to thee,
Little knowes this Loue in me:
And by him seale vp thy minde,
Whether that thy youth and kinde
Will the faithfull offer take
Of me, and all that I can make,
Or else by him my loue denie,
And then Ile studie how to die

   Sil. Call you this chiding?
  Cel. Alas poore Shepheard

   Ros. Doe you pitty him? No, he deserues no pitty:
wilt thou loue such a woman? what to make thee an instrument,
and play false straines vpon thee? not to be endur'd.
Well, goe your way to her; (for I see Loue hath
made thee a tame snake) and say this to her; That if she
loue me, I charge her to loue thee: if she will not, I will
neuer haue her, vnlesse thou intreat for her: if you bee a
true louer hence, and not a word; for here comes more
company.

Exit. Sil.

Enter Oliuer.

  Oliu. Good morrow, faire ones: pray you, (if you | know)
Where in the Purlews of this Forrest, stands
A sheep-coat, fenc'd about with Oliue-trees