66 "Her worth, being mounted on the wind, Through all the world bears Rofalind. "All the pictures fairest lin'd, "Are but black to Rofalind; "Let no face be kept in mind, "But the face of Rofalind." Clo. I'll rhime you fo eight years together, dinners and fuppers, and fleeping hours excepted: It is the right butter-woman's rank to market. ·Rof. Out, fool!. Clo. For a tafte----- If a hart doth lack a hind, (14) If the cat will after kind, Winter garments must be lin❜d, They that reap muft fheaf and bind;: Such a nut is Rofalind. He that fweetéft rofe will find,. Muft find Love's prick, and Rofalind. This is the very falfe gallop of verses; why do you infect yourself with them? Rof. Peace, you dull fool, I found them on a tree. Clo. Truly the tree yields bad fruit. (14) If a bart doth lack a hind, &c.] The Poet, in arraign ing this fpecies of verification, feems not only to fatirize. the mode that fo much prevailed in his time, of writing fonnets and madrigals; but tacitly to fneer the levity of De Thomas Lodge, a grave phyfician in Queen Elizabeth's reign, who was very fertile of paftoral fongs; and who wrote a whole book of poems in the praife of his mistress, whom he calls Rofalind.. Ref. I'll graft it with you, and then I fhall graft it with a medler; then it will be the earliest fruit th' country; for you'll 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. Gel. " Why fhould this a defart be, Twixt the fouls of friend and friend; "But upon the fairelt boughs, "Or at every fentence end, "Will I Rofalinda write; Teaching all that read, to know, Helen's cheeks, but not her heart, Atalanta's better part; By Heavenly fynod was devifed; "Of many faces, eyes, and hearts, "To have the touches deareft prized. "Heaven would that the thefe gifts should "And I to live and die her flave." [have, Rof. O most gentle Jupiter! what tedious homily, of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried, have patience, good people! Gel. How now? back friends?----Shepherd, go. off a little: go with him, firrah. Clo. Come, fhepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with fcrip and fcrippage. [Exeunt Cor. and Clown. Cel. Didit thou hear thefe verfes ? Rof. O yes, I heard them all, and more too; for fome of them had in them more feet than, the verfes would bear. Gel. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verfes. Rof. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not. bear themselves without the verse, and therefore ftood lamely in the verfe. Cel. But didft thou hear without wondering, how thy name fhould be hanged and carved upon. thefe trees? Rof. I was feven of the nine days out of wonder, before you came: for, look here, what I found on a palm-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 Change you colour? Rof. I pr'ythee, who? [neck.... Cel. O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes, and fo encounter. Rof. Nay, but who is it?! Cel. Is it poffible? Ref. Nay, I pr'ythee now, with most petitionary vehemence, tell me who it is. Gel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after that out of all whooping Rof. (15) Odd's my complexion! doft thou think, though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hofe in my difpofition? (16) 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 could'ft ftammer, that thou might'it pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-mouthed bottle le; 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.te Cel. So you may put a man into your belly. Rof. Is he of God's making? what manner of man? is his head worth a hat? or his chin worth a beard? (15) Good my complexion! doft thou think, &c.] This is a mode of expreffion that I could not reconcile to common Tenfe; I have therefore ventured, by a flight change, to read, Odd's my complexion! So, in another scene of this comedy, Rofalind again fays; Odd's my little life! And again; -Odd's my will! Her love is not the hare that I do hunt. (16) One inch of delay more is a South-fea of discovery.] A South-fea of difcovery: this is ftark nonfenfe; we must ead off difcovery. i e. from difcovery. If you delay me one inch of time fonger, I fhall think this fecret as far from difcovery as the South-fea is. Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard. Ref. 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.) Cel. It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wreftler's heels and your heart both in an inftant. 7 Rof. Nay, but the devil take mocking; fpeak, fad brow, and true maid. Rof. Alas the day, what fhall I do with my doub let and hofe? what did he when thou faweft him what faid he? how looked he? wherein went he what makes he here? did he afk for me?; where remains he? how parted he with thee? and when fhalt thou fee him again? answer me in one word Gel. You muft borrow me Gargantua's mouth first; 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's fize: to fay ay, and no, to these particulars, is more than to answer in a catechrism. pod Rof. But doth he know that I am in this foreft, and in man's apparel ? looks he as frethly 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 tafte of my finding him, and relifh it with good obfervance. found him under a tree like a dropped acorn. I Rof. It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops forth fuch fruit. Cel. Give me audience, good Madam. Cel. There lay he ftretched along like a wounded knight. Rof. Though it be pity to fee fuch a fight, it well becomes the ground. Cel. Cry, holla to thy tongue, I pr'ythee; it |