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SCENE VIII.

ORLA. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good mon[Cel. and Rof. come forward.

fieur melancholy!

- Do you hear Fo

Ros. I will speak to him like a fawcy lacquey, and under that habit play the knave with him. refter ?

ORLA. Very well; what would you?

Ros. I pray you, what is't a clock?

ORLA. You should ask me what time o'day; there's no clock in the foreft.

Ros. Then there is no true lover in the foreft; elfe, fighing every minute, and groaning every hour, would detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock.

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

Ros. By no means, fir: time travels in divers paces, with divers perfons; I'll tell you whom time ambles withal, whom time trots withal, whom time gallops withal, and whom he ftands ftill withal.

CRLA. I pr'ythee, whom doth he trot withal?

Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, between the contract of her marriage, and the day it is folemniz'd: if the interim be but a fe'night, time's pace is so hard that it feems the length of feven years.

ORLA. Who ambles time withal?

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

ORLA. Whom doth he gallop withal ?

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

ORLA. Whom stays it ftill withal?

Ros. With lawyers in the vacation; for they fleep between term and term, and then they perceive not how time

moves.

ORLA. Where dwell you, pretty youth?

Ros. With this thepherdefs, my fifter; here in the skirts of the foreft, like fringe upon a petticoat.

ORLA. Are you native of this place?

Ros. As the cony; that you fee dwell where she is kindled. ORLA. Your accent is fomething finer, than you could purchase in fo removed a dwelling.

Ros. I have been told fo of many; but, indeed, an old religious uncle of mine taught me to fpeak, who was in his youth an in-land-man, one that knew courtship too well: for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it; I thank God, I am not a woman, to be touch'd with fo many giddy offences as he hath generally tax'd their whole fex withal.

ORLA. 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 monftrous, 'till his fellow fault came to match it.

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

Ros. No; I will not caft away my phyfick, but on those that are fick. There is a man haunts the forest that abufes our young plants with carving Rofalind on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies on brambles; all, forfooth, deifying the name of Rofalind. If I could meet

that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he feems to have the quotidian of love upon him.

ORLA. I am he, that is fo love-fhak'd; 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 fure, you are not prisoner.

ORLA. What were his marks?

Ros. A lean cheek, which you have not: a blue eye and funken, 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 fimply your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue; then your hofe should be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your fleeve unbutton'd your shoe untied, and every thing about you demonftrating, a careless defolation. But you are no fuch man, you are rather point-de-vice in your accoutrements, as loving yourself, than feeming the lover of any other.

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

Ros. Me believe it? you may as foon make her, that you love believe it; which I warrant, fhe is apter to do, than to confess she does; that is one of the points, in the which women ftill give the lye to their confciences. But, in good footh, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rofalind is fo admired?

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

Ros. But are you so much in love, as your rhimes fpeak? ORLA. Neither rhime nor reason can exprefs how much. Ros. Love is merely a madness, and, I tell you deserves as well a dark house and a whip as mad men do: and the

reason why they are not fo punifhed and cured, is, that the lunacy is fo ordinary, that the whippers are in love too: yet I profefs curing it by counfel.

ORLA. Did you ever cure any fo? Ros. Yes, one, and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his miftrefs; and I fet him every day to wooe me. At which time would 1, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking; proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconftant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every paffion fomething, and for no paffon truly any thing, as boys and women are for the most part cattle of this colour; would now like him, now loath him; then entertain him, then forfwear 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 forfwear the full ftream of the world, and to live in a nook meerly monaftick; and thus I cur'd him, and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clear as a found sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't.

ORLA. I would not be cur'd, youth.

Ros. I would cure you if you would but call me Rosalind, and come every day to my cote, and wooe me.

ORLA. Now, by the faith of my love, I will. Tell me where it is.

Ros. Go with me to it, and I will fhew it you; and, by the way, you shall tell me where in the foreft you live. Will you go?

ORLA. With all my heart, good youth.

Ros. Nay, nay, you must call me Rosalind,-Come, fifter will you go.

[Exeunt.

SCENE IX.

Enter Clown, Audrey and Jaques watching them.

CLO. Come apace, good Audrey, I will fetch up your goats, Audrey; and now, Audrey, am I the man yet? doth my fimple feature content you?

AUD. Your features, Lord warrant us! what features? CLO. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet honeft Ovid was among the Goths. JAQ. O knowledge ill-inhabited, worse than Jove in a thatch'd house! [Afide.

CLO. When a man's verfes cannot be understood, nor a man's wit feconded 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 it honest in deed and word? is it a true thing?

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

AUD. Do you wifh then, that the gods had made me poetical ?

CLO. I do, truly; for thou fwear'ft to me, thou art honeft: now if thou wert a poet, I might have fome hope thou did'ft feign.

AUD. Would you not have me honest?

CLO. No, truly, unless thou wert hard favour'd: for honefty coupled to beauty, is, to have honey a fawce to fu

gar.

JAQ A material fool!

[Afide.

AUD. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me honest!

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