His leg is but fo fo, and yet 'tis well
There was a pretty rednefs in his Tip,
A little riper and more lufty red

;

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

There be fome women, Silvius, 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 cause 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 shalt bear it; wilt thou, Silvius ?.
Sil. Phebe, with all my heart.
Phe. I'll write it straight;

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

[Exeunt.

I

A C T IV. SCENE I.

Continues in the FOREST.

Enter Rofalind, Celia, and Jaques.

JAQUES.

Pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee.

Rof. They fay you are a melancholy fellow.

Jaq. 1 am fo I do love it better than laughing.

;

Rof. Thofe, that are in extremity of either, are abominable fellows; and betray themselves to every modern cenfure, worse than drunkards.

Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be fad, and fay nothing.
Ref. Why, then, 'tis good to be a post.

Jaq. I have neither the fcholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the mulician's, which is fantastical;

nor

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 thefe; but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many fimples, extracted from many objects, and, indeed, the fundry contemplation of my travels, on which my often rumination wraps me In a moft humorous fadnefs.

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. Faq. Yes, I have gain'd me experience.

SCENE IL

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 verfe..

[Exit.

Ro. Farewel, monfieur traveller; look, you lifp, and wear strange 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 (4).-Why, how now, Orlando, where have

(4) -fwam in a Gondola ] That is, been at Venice, the feat at that time of all licentioufnefs, where the young English gentlemen wafted their fortunes, debafed their morals, and fometimes loft their religion.

The fashion of travelling, which prevailed very much in our author's time, was confidered by the wifer men as one of the principal caufes of corrupt manners. It was therefore gravely cenfured by Acham in his School-mafter, and by Bishop Hall in his Quo Vadis, and is here, and in other paflages, ridiculed by Shakespeare.

N 3

you

IT. 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 promise.

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 thoufandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be faid of him, that Cupid bath clapt him o' th' thoulder, but I'll warrant him heartwhole.

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 snail ?

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. Befides, he brings his deftiny with him.

Orla. What's that?

Ref. 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 pleafes him to call fo you ; but he hath a Rofalind of a better leer than you.

Rof. 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.

Rof. Nay, you were better speak first, and when you were gravell'd for lack of matter, you might take occafion 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 he puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.

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

Rof."

Ref. Marry, that fhould you, if I were your mistrefs ; 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 say, I will not have you. Orla. Then in mine own person I die.

Rof. No, faith, die by attorney; the poor world is almost fix thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own perfon, videlicet, in a love caufe. Troilus had his brains dath'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 midfuinmer night; for, good youth, he went but forth to wath in the Hellefpont, and, being taken with the cramp, was drown'd; and the foolish chroniclers of that age (5) found it was,-Hero of Seftos. But thefe are all lyes; men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.

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

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

all.

Rof. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays, and

Orla. And wilt thou have me?

Rof. Ay, and twenty fuch.

Orla. What fay'st thou?

Rof. Are you not good?

(5)

chroniclers of that age-] Sir T. Hanmer reads, coro

ners, by the advice, as Dr. Warburton hints, of fome anonymous

critick.

N 4

Orla,

Orla. I hope fo.

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

us.

Sifter?

Orla. Pray thee, marry us.

Cel. I cannot fay the words.
Raf. 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 fast as she can marry us.

Rof. Then you must say, I take thee Rofalind for

wife.

Orla. I take thee Rofalind for wife.

Rof. I might afk you for your commission, but I do 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 would you have her, after you have pofleft 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 againft rain; more new-fangled than an ape; more giddy in my defires than a monkey I 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 (6).

(6)

to WEEP.

and when you are inclin'd to SLEEP.] We fhou'd read, WARBURTON. I know not why we should read to weep. I believe moft men would be more angry to have their fleep hindered than their grief interrupted.

Orla