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Enter Orlando and Jaques.

Cel. You bring me out. Soft, comes he not here?
Rof. 'Tis he; flink by, and note him.

[Cel. and Rof. retire. Jaq. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been my felf alone.

Orla. And fo had I; but yet for fashion fake, I thank you too for your fociety.

Jaq. God b'w' you, let's meet as little as we can.
Orla. I do defire we may be better ftrangers.

faq. I pray you, marr no more trees with writing love-fongs in their barks.

Orla. I pray you, marr no more of my Verses with reading them ill-favouredly.

Jaq. Rofalind, is your love's name?

Orla. Yes, juft.

Jaq. I do not like her name.

Orla. There was no thought of pleafing you, when fhe was chriften'd.

Jaq. What ftature is the of?

Orla. Just as high as my heart.

Jaq. You are full of pretty anfwers; have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths wives, and conn'd them out of rings?

Orla. Not fo: (7) but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have ftudied your questions.

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

(7) But I answer you right painted Cloth.] This alludes to the Fashion, in old Tapeftry Hangings, of Motto's and moral Sentences from the Mouths of the Figures work'd or -painted in them. The Poet again hints at this Cuftom in his Poem, call'd, Tarquin and Lucrece :

Who fears a Sentence, or an Old Man's Saw,
Shall by a painted Cloth be kept in Awe

Orla.

AS YOU LIKE IT.

307

Orla. I will chide no breather in the world but my felf, against whom I know moft faults.

Jaq. The worst fault you have, is to be in love. Orla. 'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue; I am weary of you.

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

Orla. He is drown'd in the brook; look but in, and you fhall fee him.

Jaq. There I fhall fee mine own figure.

Orla. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cypher. Faq. I'll ftay no longer with you; farewel, good Signior love! [Exit. Orla. I am glad of your departure; adieu, good Monfieur melancholy! [Cel. and Rof. come forward. Rof. I will speak to him like a fawcy lacquey, and under that habit play the knave with him: do you hear, forefter ?

Orla. Very well; what would you?

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

Orla. You fhould ask me, what time o' day; there's no clock in the Forest.

Rof. Then there is no true lover in the Foreft; else, 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?

Rof. By no means, Sir: time travels in divers paces, with divers perfons; I'll tell you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he ftands ftill withal?

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

Rof. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, between the contract of her marriage, and the day it is solemniz'd if the interim be but a fennight, time's pace is fo hard that it feems the length of feven years.

Orla. Who ambles time withal?

Rof. With a prieft that lacks Latine, and a rich man that hath not the gout; for the one fleeps eafily, because he cannot study; and the other lives merrily, be

caufe

cause he feels no pain: the one lacking the bur lean and wafteful learning; the other knowing then of heavy tedious penury. Thefe time

withal.

Orla. Whom doth he gallop withal ?

Rof. With a thief to the gallows for tho go as foftly as foot can fall, he thinks himself t there.

Orla. Whom ftays it still withal ?

Rof. With lawyers in the vacation; for the between term and term, and then they perce how time moves.

Orla. Where dwell you, pretty youth?

Rof. With this fhepherdefs, my fifter; here skirts of the foreft, like fringe upon a petticoat. Orla. Are you native of this place?

Rof. As the cony, that you fee dwell where kindled.

Orla. Your accent is fomething finer, than you purchase in fo removed a dwelling.

Rof. I have been told fo of many; but, indeed, religious Uncle of mine taught me to fpeak, who his youth an in-land man, one that knew courtsh well; for there he fell in love. I have heard hin many lectures against it; I thank God, I am not man, to be touch'd with fo many giddy offences hath generally tax'd their whole fex withal.

Orla. Can

you remember any of the principal that he laid to the charge of women?

Rof. There were none principal, they were al one another, as half pence are; every one fault ing monstrous, 'till his fellow fault came to match i Orla. I pr'ythee, recount fome of them.

Rof. No; I will not caft away my phyfick, b thofe that are fick. There is a man haunts the F that abuses our young Plants with carving Rofalin

their

AS YOU LIKE IT.

309

Orla. I am he, that is fo love-fhak'd; I pray you, tell

me your remedy.

Rof. There is none of my Uncle's marks upon you; he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rufhes, I am fure, you are not prisoner.

Orla. What were his marks?

Rof. A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye and funken, which you have not; an unquestionable fpirit, 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 fhould be ungarter'd, your bonnet unbanded, your fleeve unbutton'd, your fhoo untied, and every thing about you demonftrating a careless defolation; but you are no such man, you are rather pointdevice in your accoutrements, as loving your felf, than seeming the lover of any other.

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

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

Orla. I fwear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rofalind, I am That he, that unfortunate he.

Rof. But are you fo much in love, as your rhimes speak?

Orla. Neither rhime nor reafon can exprefs how much.

Rof. Love is meerly a madness, and, I tell you, deferves as well a dark house and a whip, as mad men do and the reason why they are not fo punish'd and cured, is, that the lunacy is fo ordinary, that the whippers are in love too: yet I profefs curing it by counsel. Orla. Did you ever cure any fo?

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Rof. Yes, one, and in this manner.

He was to ima

gine me his love, his mistress: and I fet him every day

to wooe me. At which time would I, being but a

moonish

moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking; proud, fantaftical, apifh, hallow, inconftant, full of tears, full of fmiles; for every paffion fomething, and for no paffion 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 fpit at him; that I drave my fuitor from his mad humour of love, to a living humour of madness; which was, to forfwear the full fream 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 fheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't.

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

Rof. I would cure you if you would but call me Rofalind, and come every day to my cotte, and wooe me. Orla. Now, by the faith of my love, I will; tell me where it is.

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

Orla. With all my heart, good youth.

Rof. Nay, nay, you must call me Rofalind: come, fifter, will you go?

Enter Clown, Audrey and Jaques.

[Exeunt.

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!

Clo. When a man's verfes cannot be understood, nor a man's good Wit feconded with the forward child, Understanding; it ftrikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room; truly, I would the Gods had made thee poetical.

Aud.

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