scn,

As you have whisper'd faithfully, you were: And as mine eye doth his effigies witness Most truly limn'd, and living in your face,Be truly welcome hither: I am the duke,

SCENE I.- A Room in the Palace.

fortune,

Go to my cave and tell me.-Good old man,
Thou art right welcome as thy master is;
Support him by the arm.-Give me your hand,
And let me all your fortunes understand. [Exeunt.

Enter DUKE FREDERICK, OLIVER, Lords, and Attendants.

Duke F. Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be:

But were I not the better part made mercy,
I should not seek an absent argument
Of my revenge, thou present: But look to it;
Find out thy brother, wheresoe'er he is:

Seek him with candle; bring him dead or living,
Within this twelvemonth, or turn thou no more
To seek a living in our territory.

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 brother's mouth,
Of what we think against thee.

Ofi. O, that your highness knew my heart in this!
I never lov'd my brother in my life.
Duke F. More villain thou. Well, push him
out of doors;

And let my officers of such a nature
Make an extent upon his house and lands:
Do this expediently, and turn him going. [Exeunt.

SCENE II. - The Forest.

Enter ORLANDO, with a paper. Ori. Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love: And, thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above, Thy huntress' name, that my full life doth sway. O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books,

And in their barks my thoughts I'll character;
That every eye, which in this forest looks,

Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where.
Run, run, Orlando; carve, on every tree,
The fair, the chaste, and unexpressive she.

Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE.

[Exit.

Cor. And how like you this shepherd's life, master Touchstone?

Touch. Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good life; but in respect that it is a shepherd's life, it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it very well; but in respect that it is private, it is a very vile life. Now in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As it is a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well; but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?

Cor. No more, but that I know, the more one tickens, the worse at ease 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 fire to burn: That good pasture makes fat sheep; and that a great cause of the night, is lack

of the sun: That he, that hath learned no wit by nature nor art, may complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred.

Touch. Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in court, shepherd?

Cor. No, truly.

Touch. Then thou art damn'd.
Cor. Nay, I hope,

Touch. Truly, thou art damn'd; like an ill-roasted egg, all on one side.

Cor. For not being at court? Your reason.

Touch. Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never saw'st good manners; if thou never saw'st good manners, then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is sin, and sin is damnation: Thou art in a parlous state, shepherd.

Cor. Not a whit, Touchstone: those, that are good manners at the court, are as ridiculous in the country, as the behaviour of the country is most mockable at the court. You told me, you salute not at the court, but you kiss your hands; that courtesy would be uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds.

Touch. Instance, briefly; come, instance.

Cor. Why, we are still handling our ewes; and their fells, you know, are greasy.

Touch. Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? 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.

Touch. Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow, again: A more sounder instance, come.

Cor. And they are often tarr'd over with the surgery of our sheep; And would you have us kiss tar? The courtier's hands are perfumed with civet.

Touch. Most shallow man! Thou worms-meat, in respect of a good piece of flesh: Indeed! - Learn of the wise, and perpend: Civet is of a baser birth than tar; the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.

Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest. Touch. Wilt thou rest damn'd? God help thee, shallow man! God make incision 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 happiness; glad of other men's good, content with my harm and the greatest of my pride is, to see my ewes graze, and my lambs suck.

Touch. That is another simple sin in you; to bring the ewes and the rams together, and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle: to be bawd to a bell-wether; and to betray a she-lamb of a twelvemonth, to a crooked-pated, old cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be'st not damn'd for this, the devil himself will have no

shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst 'scape.

Cor. Here comes young master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.

Enter ROSALIND, reading a paper. Ros. From the east to western Ind,

No jewel u like Rosalind.

Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
Through all the world bears Rosalind.
All the pictures, fairest lin'd,

Are but black to Rosalind.

Let no face be kept in mind,
But the fair of Rosalind.

Touch. I'll rhyme you so, eight years together; dinners, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted: it is the right butter woman's rank to market. Ros. Out, fool!

Touch. For a taste:

-

If a hart do lack a hind,
Let him seek out Rosalind.
If the cat will after kind,
So, be sure, will Rosalind.
Winter-garments must be lin'd,
So must slender Rosalind.

They that reap, must sheaf and bind ;
Then to cart with Rosalind.
Sweetest nut hath sowrest rind,
Such a nut is Rosalind.

He that sweetest Rose will find,

Must find love's prick, and Rosalind.

This is the very false gallop of verses; Why do you infect yourself with them?

Ros. Peace, you dull fool; I found them on a

Here comes my sister, reading; stand aside.
Cel. Why should this desert silent be?

For it is unpeopled? No;
Tongues I'll hang on every tree,
That shall civil sayings show:
Some, how brief the life of man

Runs his erring pilgrimage;
That the stretching of a span
Buckles in his sum 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 Rosalinda write:

Teaching all that read, to know
The quintessence of every sprite
Heaven would in little show.
Therefore heaven nature charg'd

That one body should be fill'd
With all graces wide enlarg'd:
Nature presently distill'd
Helen's cheek, but not her heart;
Cleopatra's majesty;

Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse.

Cel. But didst thou hear, without wondering how thy name should be hang'd and carved upon these trees?

Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder, before you came; for look here what I since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, found on a palm-tree: I was never so be-rhymed which I can hardly remember.

Cel. Trow you, who hath done this?
Ros. Is it a man?

neck: Change you colour?

Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his

Ros. I pr'ythee, who?

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

earthquakes, and so encounter.

Ros. Nay, but who is it?

Cel. Is it possible?

Ros. Nay, I pray thee now, with most 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!

Ros. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South-sea-off discovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, who is it? quickly, and speak apace: I would thou couldst stammer, that thou might'st pour this concealed 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 pr'ythee take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings.

Cel. So you may put a man in your belly.

Ros. 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.

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

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

Cel. I'faith, coz, 'tis he. Ras. Orlando?

Cel. Orlando.

Ras. Alas the day! what shall I do with my docblet and hose?-What did he when thou saws't him? What said 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 shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word.

Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's mouth first: 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this ge's size: To say, ay, and no, to these particulars, is more than to answer in a catechism. Ras. 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 wrestled?

Cd. It is as easy to count atomies, as to resolve the propositions of a lover: - but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with a good observance. I found him under a tree, like a dropp'd acorn. Rs. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit.

Cel. Give me audience, good madam.
Bos. Proceed.

Cal. There lay he, stretch'd along, like a wounded knight.

Ras. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground.

Cal. Cry, holla! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee; it farvets very unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter.

Rot. O ominous! he comes to kill my heart. Cal. I would sing my song without a burden: fhou bring'st me out of tune.

Rat. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on.

Enter ORLANDO and Jaques.

Cel. You bring me out :-Soft! comes he not here? Ret. 'Tis he; slink by, and note him.

[CELIA and ROSALIND retire. Jay. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone.

Ori. And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you too for your society.

Jaq. God be with you, let's meet as little as we

[Exit JAQUES.
· CELIA and ROSALINE
come forward.

Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lacquey, and under that habit play the knave with him. Do you hear, forester?

Orl. Very well; what would you? Ros. I pray you, what is't a clock? Orl. You should ask me, what time o'day; there's no clock in the forest.

Ros. Then there's no true lover in the forest; else sighing every minute, and groaning every hour, would detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock.

Orl. And why not the swift foot of time? had not that been as proper?

Ros. By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces with divers persons! tell you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.

Orl. I pr'ythee, who doth he trot withal?

Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, between the contract of her marriage, and the day it is solemnized; if the interim be but a se'nnight, time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven years.

Orl. Who ambles time withal?

Ros. With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man that hath not the gout: for the one sleeps easily, because he cannot study; and the other lives merrily, because he feels no pain: the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning,, he other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury: These time ambles withal.

Orl. Who doth he gallop withal?

Ros. With a thief to the gallows for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.

Orl. Who stays it still withal?

Ros. With lawyers in the vacation: for they sleep between term and term, and then they perceive not how time moves.

Orl. Where dwell you, pretty youth?

Ros. With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petti

coat.

Orl. Are you native of this place?

Ros. As the coney, that you see dwell where she is kindled.

Orl. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling.

Ros. I have been told so 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

Orl. Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of women?

Ros. There were none principal; they were all like one another, as half-pence are: every one fault seeming monstrous, till his fellow fault came to match it.

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

Ros. No; I will not cast away my physick, but on those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind: if I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him.

Orl. I am he that is so love-shaked; I pray you, tell me your remedy.

Ros. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you: he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes, I am sure you are not prisoner.

Orl. What were his marks?

Ros. A lean cheek; which you have not a blue eye, and sunken; which you have not: an unquestionable spirit; which you have not: a beard neglected; which you have not: but I pardon you for that; for, simply, your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue: - Then your hose should be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbottoned, your shoe untied, and every thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man; you are rather point-device in your accoutrements; as loving yourself, than seeming the lover of any other.

Orl. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.

Ros. Me believe it? you may as soon make her that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do, than to confess she does; that is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so adn ured?

Orl. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am that he, that unfortunate he.

Ros. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak?

Orl. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much.

:

Ros. Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip, as madmen do and the reason why they are not so punished and cured, is, that the lunacy is so ordinary, that the whippers are in love too: Yet I profess curing it by counsel.

Orl. Did you ever cure any so? Ros. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress; and I set him every day to woo me: At which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking; proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every passion something, and for no passion truly any thing, as boys and women are for

him, now loath him; then entertain him, then for swear him; now weep for him, then spit at him that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love to a living humour of madness; which was, to for swear the full stream of the world, and to live in nook merely monastick: And thus I cured him and this way will I take upon me to wash your live as clean as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall no be one spot of love in't.

Orl. I would not be cured, youth.

Ros. I would cure you, if you would but call m Rosalind, and come every day to my cote, and woo me Orl. Now, by the faith of my love, I will; tel me where it is.

Ros. Go with me to it, and I'll show it you: and by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest you live: Will you go?

Orl. With all my heart, good youth. Ros. Nay, you must call me Rosalind :- Come sister, will you go? [Exeunt

SCENE III.

Enter TOUCHSTONE and AUDREY; JAQUES at a distance, observing them.

Touch. Come apace, good Audrey; I will fetch up your goats, Audrey: And how, Audrey? am the man yet? Doth my simple feature content you

Aud. Your features! Lord warrant us! what features?

Touch. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet, honest Ovid, was among the Goths.

Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited! worse than Jove in a thatch'd house!

[Aside

Touch. When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward child, understanding, it strikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room: Truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical.

Aud. I do not know what poetical is: Is i honest in deed, and word? Is it a true thing?

Touch. No, truly; for the truest poetry is the most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry; and what they swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers they do feign.

Aud. Do you wish then, that the gods had mad me poetical?

Touch. I do, truly, for thou swear'st to me, thou art honest; now, if thou wert a poet, I might have some hope thou didst feign.

Aud. Would you not have me honest? Touch. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a sauce to sugar.

[Aside

Jaq. A material fool! Aud. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me honest!

Touch. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul slut, were to put good meat into an unclean dish. Aud. I am not a slut, though I thank the gods 1 am foul.

Touch. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness sluttishness may come hereafter. But be it as it may be, I will marry thee, and to that end, I have been with Sir Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the next village; who hath promised to meet me in this place of the forest, and to couple us,

Jaq. I would fain see this meeting.

[4sid

Aud. Well, the gods give us joy! Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful beart, stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no assembly but hornbeasts. But what though? Courage! As horns are odious, they are necessary. It is said, Many a man knows no end of his goods: right; many a man has good horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his own getting. Horns? Even so: Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal, Is the single man therefore blessed? No: as a wall'd town is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor: and by how much defence is better than no skill, by much is a horn more precious than to want,

Enter Sir OLIVER Mar-text.

Here comes sir Oliver: - Sir Oliver Mar-text, you are well met; Will you despatch us here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel ?

Sir O. Is there none here to give the woman? Touch. I will not take her on gift of any man. Str Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.

Jag. [Discovering himself.] Proceed, proceed; I'll give her.

Truck. Good even, 'good master What ye call't: How do you, sir? You are very well met: God'ild you for your last company: I am very glad to see you:-Even a toy in hand here, sir; - Nay ; pray, be cover'd.

Jaq. Will you be married, motley?

Touch. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, and the faulcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.

Jeg. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a bush, like a beggar? Get you to church, and have a good priest that can tell you what marriage is: this fellow will but join you together as they join wainscot: then one of you will prove a shrunk pannel, and, like green timber, warp, warp. Touch. I am not in the mind but I were better to be married of him than of another: for he is not like to marry me well; and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my [Aside.

wife.

J. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. Touch. Come, sweet Audrey;

We must be married, or we must live in bawdry. Farewell, good master Oliver!

Not-O sweet Oliver,
O brave Oliver,

Leave me not behi' thee;
But-Wind away,
Begone I say,

I will not to wedding wi' thee.

[Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE, and Audrey. Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave of thern all shall flout me out of my calling. [Exit.

SCENE IV. The same. Before a Cottage.
Enter ROSALIND and CELIA.
Ros. Never talk to me, I will weep.

Cel. Do, I pry'thee; but yet have the grace to consider, that tears do not become a man, Ros. But have I not cause to weep?

Cel. As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.

Ros. His very hair is of the dissembling colour. Cel. Something browner than Judas's: marry, his kisses are Judas's own children.

Ros. I'faith, his hair is of a good colour. Cel. An excellent colour: your chesnut was ever the only colour.

Ros. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread.

Cel. He hath bought a pair of cast lips of Diana: a nun of winter's sisterhood kisses not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them.

Ros. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not?

Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him.
Ros. Do you think so?

Cel. Yes, I think he is not a pick-purse, nor horse-stealer; but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a cover'd goblet, or a worm-eaten

nut.

Ros. Not true in love?

Cel. Yes, when he is in; but, I think he is not in. Ros. You have heard him swear downright, he was. Cel. Was is not is: besides the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmers of false reckonings: He attends here in the forest on the duke your father.

Ros. I met the duke yesterday, and had much question with him: He asked me, of what parentage I was; I told him, of as good as he; so he laugh'd and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando?

Cel. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his stall' like a noble goose: but all's brave, that youth mounts, and fully guides: Who comes here?

Enter CORIN.

Cor. Mistress, and master, you have oft enquired
After the shepherd that complain'd of love;
Who you saw sitting by me on the turf,
Praising the proud disdainful shepherdess
That was his mistress.

Cel.
Well, and what of him?
Cor. If you will see a pageant truly play'd,
Between the pale complexion of true love,
And the red glow of scorn and proud disdain,
Go hence a little, and I shall conduct you,
If you will mark it.

Ros.
O, come let us remove :
The sight of lovers feedeth those in love;
Bring us unto this sight, and you shall say
I'll prove a busy actor in their play.

[Exeunt.

SCENE V. - Another part of the Forest.

Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE.

Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not,
Phebe :

Say, that you love me not; but say not so
In bitterness: The common executioner,
Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes

hard,