Cel. That's no matter; the feet might bear the

verses.

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 hanged 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 found on a palm-tree; I never was so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly

remember.

Cel. Trow you who hath done this?

Ros. Is it a man?

Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck. Change you color?

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? 3

Ros. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition? One inch of delay more is a South sea of discovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, who is it? Quickly, and speak apace. I would thou could'st

1 A palm-tree in the forest of Arden is as much out of its place as a lioness in a subsequent scene.

2 This fanciful idea probably arose from some metrical charm or incantation used there for ridding houses of rats.

3 To whoop, or hoop, is to cry out, to exclaim with astonishment.

4 "Good my complexion!" This singular phrase was probably only a little unmeaning exclamation.

5 1. e. every delay is as irksome as a voyage of discovery in the South sea.

stammer, that thou might'st pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrowmouthed 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, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin.

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

Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking; speak sad brow, and true maid.1

Cel. I'faith, coz, 'tis he.

Ros. Orlando ?

Cel. Orlando.

Ros. Alas the day! What shall I do with my doublet and hose?-What did he, when thou saw'st him? What said he? How looked he? Wherein went he?2 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 age's size. To say, ay, and no, to these particulars, is more than to answer in a catechism.

Ros. 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?

Cel. It is as easy to count atomies, as to resolve the

1 "Speak sad brow, and true maid; " speak seriously and honestly; or, in other words, "speak with a serious countenance, and as truly as thou art a virgin."

2 i. e. how was he dressed?

3 "Garagantua;" the giant of Rabelais, who swallowed five pilgrims, their staves and all in a salad.

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 dropped acorn.

Ros. It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit.

Cel. Give me audience, good madam.

Ros. Proceed.

Cel. There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight.

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

Cel. Cry, holla!' to thy tongue, I pr'ythee; it curvets very unseasonably. He was furnished like a

hunter.

Ros. O ominous! he comes to kill my heart.2

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

Ros. 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? Ros. 'Tis he; slink by, and note him.

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

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

Jaq. God be with you; let's meet as little as we can. Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers. Jag. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing love-songs in their barks.

Orl. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading them ill-favoredly.

Jaq. Rosalind is your love's name?

Orl. Yes, just.

1 Holla! This was a term of the manage, by which the rider restrained

and stopped his horse.

2 A quibble between hart and heart.

Jaq. I do not like her name.

Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you, when she was christened.

Jaq. What stature is she of?

Orl. Just as high as my heart.

Jaq. You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conned them out of rings?

Orl. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth,' from whence you have studied your questions.

Jaq. You have a nimble wit; I think it was made of Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against our mistress the world, and all our misery.

Orl. I will chide no breather in the world, but myself; against whom I know most faults.

Jaq. The worst fault you have, is to be in love

Orl. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you.

Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool, when I found you.

Orl. He is drowned in the brook; look but in and you shall see him.

Jaq. There shall I see mine own figure.

Orl. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cipher. Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you; farewell, good seignior love.

Orl. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good monsieur melancholy.

[Exit JAQ.-CEL. and Ros. come forward. Ros. I will speak to him like a saucy lackey, 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 o'clock?

1 To answer right painted cloth, is to answer sententiously. We still say she talks right Billingsgate. Painted cloth was a species of hangings for the walls of rooms, which has generally been supposed and explained to mean tapestry; but was really cloth or canvass painted with various devices and mottos. The verses, mottos, and proverbial sentences on such cloths are often made the subject of allusion in our old writers.

Orl. You should ask me, what time o'day; there's no clock in the forest.

Ros. Then there is 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? not that been as proper?

Had

Ros. By no means, sir; time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I'll 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; the 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 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 petticoat. Orl. Are you a native of this place?

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

Orl. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed1 a dwelling.

1 i. e. sequestered.