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wife and perpend; civet is of a baser birth than tarr; the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.
Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me ; I'll rest.
Clo. Wilt thou reft 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.
Clo. That is another simple fin in you, to bring the ewes and the rams together ; and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle ; to be a bawd 'to a bell-weather; and to betray a fhe-lamb of a twelvemonth to a crooked-pated old cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be'it not damn'd for this, the devil himself will have no shepherds ; I cannot see else how thou should'ft ’scape.
Cor. Here comes young Mr. Ganimed, my new misa tress's brother.
Enter Rosalind, with a paper.
No jewel is like Rosalind.
Clo. I'll rhime you so, eight years together ; dinners, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted: it is the right butter-women's rank to market.
Ros. Out, fool!
If a hart doth lack a bind,
If the cat will after kind,
Musi find love's prick, and Rosalind. This is the very false gallop of verses; why do you in fect your self with them?
Ros, Peace, you dull fool, I found them on a tree. Clo. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. Rof. I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a medler; then it will be the earliest fruit i' th' country; for you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medler.
Cl.. You have said ; but whether wisely or no, let the Forest judge.
Enter Celia, with a writing.
Ros, Peace, here comes my Sister reading ; stand afide.
Cel. Why should this a Defart be,
For it is unpeopled? No;
That shall civil sayings show.
Rúns his erring pilgrimage ;
Buckles in his sum of age ;
'Twixt the souls of friend and friend;
Or at every sentence end,
Will I Rosalinda write;
Teaching all, that read, to know,
Heaven would in little show.
That one body should be fill'd
Nature presently disilld
Sad Lucretia's modefly.
By heav'nly fynod was devis'd;
To have the Touches deareft priz'd.
Ros. O most gentle Jupiter! - what tedious homily of love have you wearied your Parishioners withal, and never cry'd, have patience, good people ?
Cel. How now? back-friends! Mepherd, go off a little : go with him, firrah.
Clo. Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat ; tho' not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.
[Exeunt Cor. and Clown. Cel. Didst thou hear these verses?
Ros. O yes, I heard them all, and more too ; for some of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear.
Cel. That's no matter ; the feet might bear the verses.
Rof. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse.
Cel. But didft thou hear without wondring, how thy name should be hang'd and carv'd upon these trees ?
Rof. I was seven 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?
Cél. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck : Change you colour?
Rof: I pr’ythee, who?
Cel. O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be removed with earth. quakes, and so encounter.
Ros. Nay, but who is it?
Rof. Nay, I prythee now, with moft 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
Rof. Odd's, my complexion ! dost thou think, though I am caparison'd like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my difpofition? (6) One inch of delay more is a South-sea off discovery. I prythee, tell me, who is it; quickly, and speak apace; I would thou could'it stammer, that thou mightít pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrowmouth'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, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin.
(6) One Inch of Delay more is a South-sea of Discovery ; ) A South-sea of Discovery : This is fark Nonsense; We must seadoff Discovery: i. e. from Discovery. “ If you delay
me one Inch of Time longer, I fhall think this Secret as far from Discovery as the South-sea is.”
Cel. It is young Orlando, that tripp'd up the wrestler's heels and your heart both in an instant.
Rof. Nay, but the devil take mocking; speak, fad brow, and true maid.
Cel. l'faith, coz, 'tis he.
Rof. Alas the day, what shall I do with my doublet and hose? what did he, when thou saw'ft 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 ? anfwer me in one word.
Cel. You must borrow me Garagántua'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 catechism.
Rof. 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 easie to count atoms, as to resolve the propositions of a lover : but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good observance. I found him under a tree like a dropp'd acorn.
Rof. It may well be callid ove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit.
Cel. Give me audience, good Madam.
Cel. There lay he stretch'd along like a wounded Knight.
Rof. Tho' it be pity to see such a fight, it well becomes the ground.
Cel. Cry, holla! to thy tongue, I pr’ythee; it curvets unseasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter.
Ros. Oh, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.
Cel. I would sing my fong without a burthen ; thou bring’t me out of tune.
Rof. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak : Sweet, fay on.