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

Ros. By this hand, it will not kill a fly. But come, now I will be your Rosalind in a more coming-on disposition; and ask me what you will, I will grant it. Orl. Then love me, Rosalind.

Ros. Yes, faith will I, Fridays, and Saturdays, and all.

Orl. And wilt thou have me?
Ros. Ay, and twenty such.
Orl. What say'st thou?
Ros. Are you not good?
Orl. I hope so.

Ros. Why, then, can one desire too much of a good thing?-Come, sister, you shall be the priest, and marry us. Give me your hand, Orlando.-What do you say, sister?

Orl. Pray thee, marry us.

Cel. I cannot say the words.

Ros. You must begin,- -Will you, Orlando,

Cel. Go to.

this Rosalind?

Orl. I will.

Will you, Orlando, have to wife

Ros. Ay, but when?

Orl. Why now; as fast as she can marry us. Ros. Then you must say,-I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

Orl. I take thee, Rosalind, for wife.

Ros. I might ask you for your commission; but-I do take thee, Orlando, for my husband. There a girl goes before the priest; and, certainly, a woman's thought runs before her actions.

Orl. So do all thoughts; they are winged.

Ros. Now tell me how long you would have her after you have possessed her.

Orl. Forever and a day.

Ros. 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 sky 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 against rain; more new-fangled than an ape; more giddy in my desires than a monkey. I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain; and I will do that when you are disposed to be merry; I will laugh like a hyena, and that when thou art inclined to sleep.

Orl. But will my Rosalind do so?

Ros. By my life, she will do as I do.
Orl. O, but she is wise.

Ros. Or else she could not have the wit to do this; the wiser, the waywarder. Make the doors? upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key-hole; stop that, 'twill fly with the smoke out at the chimney.

Orl. A man that had a wife with such a wit, he might say,-Wit, whither wilt? 3

Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it, till met your wife's wit going to your neighbor's bed.

you

Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse that? Ros. Marry, to say,-she came to seek you there. You shall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O, that woman that cannot make her fault her husband's occasion, let her never nurse her child herself, for she will breed it like a fool.

Orl. For these two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee.

Ros. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. Orl. I must attend the duke at dinner; by two o'clock I will be with thee again.

Ros. Ay, go your ways, go your ways. I knew what you would prove; my friends told me as much,

1 In 1598, the water of the Thames was conveyed to a fountain in Cheapside, and flowed out through a statue of Diana.

2 i. e. bar the doors.

3 "Wit, whither wilt?" This was a kind of proverbial phrase, the origin of which has not been traced. It occurs in many writers of Shakspeare's time.

4 i. e. represent her fault as occasioned by her husband. Hanmer reads, her husband's accusation.

and I thought no less ;-that flattering tongue of yours won me; 'tis but one cast away, and so,-come, death. Two o'clock is your hour?

Orl. Ay, sweet Rosalind.

1

Ros. By my troth and in good earnest, and so God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous, if you break one jot of your promise, or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promise, and the most hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rosalind, that may be chosen out of the gross band of the unfaithful. Therefore beware my censure, and keep your promise. Orl. With no less religion, than if thou wert indeed my Rosalind. So, adieu.

Ros. Well, time is the old justice that examines all such offenders, and let time try. Adieu!

[Exit ORLANDO. Cel. You have simply misused our sex in your loveprate: we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest.

Ros. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didst know how many fathom deep I am in love! But it cannot be sounded; my affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal.

Cel. Or rather, bottomless; that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out.

Ros. No, that same wicked bastard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceived of spleen, and born of madness; that blind rascally boy, that abuses every one's eyes, because his own are out, let him be judge, how deep I am in love.-I'll tell thee, Aliena, I cannot be out of the sight of Orlando. I'll go find a shadow, and sigh till he come.

Cel. And I'll sleep.

[Exeunt.

1 Pathetical and passionate were used in the same sense in Shakspeare's time.

2 So in Macbeth :

"Let us seek out some desolate shade, and there
Weep our sad bosoms empty."

SCENE II. Another Part of the Forest.

Enter JAQUES and Lords, in the habit of Foresters. Jaq. Which is he that killed the deer?

1 Lord. Sir, it was I.

Jaq. Let's present him to the duke, like a Roman conqueror; and it would do well to set the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of victory.-Have you no song, forester, for this purpose?

2 Lord. Yes, sir.

Jaq. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, so it makes noise enough.

SONG.

1. What shall he have that killed the deer? 2. His leathern skin, and horns to wear.

1. Then sing him home.

Take thou no scorn to wear the horn;
It was a crest ere thou wast born;

1. Thy father's father wore it;
2. And thy father bore it.

All. The horn, the horn, the lusty horn,
Is not a thing to laugh to scorn.1

The rest shall

bear this bur

den.

[Exeunt.

SCENE III. The Forest.

Enter ROSALind and Celia.

Ros. How say you now? Is it not past two

o'clock?

And here much Orlando! 2

1 In Playford's Musical Companion, 1673, where this song is set to music by John Hilton, the words " Then sing him home" are omitted; and it should be remarked that in the old copy, these words, and those which have been regarded by the editors as a stage direction, are given in one line.

2 i. e. here is no Orlando. Much was a common ironical expression of doubt or suspicion, still used by the vulgar in the same sense; as, “much of that!"

Cel. I warrant you, with pure love, and troubled brain, he hath ta'en his bow and arrows, and is gone forth-to sleep. Look, who comes here.

Enter SILVIUS.

Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth.
My gentle Phebe did bid me give you this.

[Giving a letter.
I know not the contents; but as I guess,
By the stern brow and waspish action
Which she did use as she was writing of it,
It bears an angry tenor. Pardon me,

I am but as a guiltless messenger.

Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter,
And play the swaggerer; bear this, bear all.
She says, I am not fair; that I lack manners;
She calls me proud; and, that she could not love me
Were man as rare as phoenix. Od's my will!
Her love is not the hare that I do hunt:

Why writes she so to me?-Well, shepherd, well,
This is a letter of your own device.

Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents;
Phebe did write it.

Ros.

Come, come, you are a fool,

And turned into the extremity of love.

I saw her hand; she has a leathern hand,

A freestone-colored hand; I verily did think
That her old gloves were on, but 'twas her hands;
She has a housewife's hand; but that's no matter.
I say, she never did invent this letter;

This is a man's invention, and his hand.

Sil. Sure, it is hers.

Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style, A style for challengers. Why, she defies me, Like Turk to Christian: woman's gentle brain Could not drop forth such giant-rude invention, Such Ethiop words, blacker in their effect Than in their countenance.-Will you hear the letter! Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet; Yet heard too much of Phebe's cruelty.