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If you do forrow at my grief in love,

By giving love, your forrow and my grief
Were both extermin'd.

Phe. Thou haft my love; is not that neighbourly? Syl. I would have you.

Phe. Why that were covetoufnefs. Sylvius, the time was that I hated thee;

And yet it is not that I bear thee love;

But fince that thou canst talk of love fo well,
Thy company, which erst was irksome to me,
I will endure; and I'll employ thee too :
But do not look for further recompence,
Than thine own gladness that thou art employ'd.
Syl. So holy and fo perfect is my love,
And I in fuch a poverty of grace,

That I fhall think it a most plenteous crop
To glean the broken ears after the man

That the main harvest reaps: loose now and then
A fcatter'd fmile, and that I'll live upon.

Phe. Know'st thou the youth that spoke to me ere
Syl. Not very well, but I have met him oft; [while!
And he hath bought the cottage and the bounds
That the old Carlot once was master of.

Phe. "Think not I love him, tho' I ask for him; "'Tis but a peevish boy, yet he talks well. "But what care I for words? yet words do well, "When he that speaks them, pleases those that hear. "It is a pretty youth, not very pretty;

"But, fure, he's proud; and yet his pride becomes him.

"He'll make a proper man; the best thing in him "Is his complexion; and fafter than his tongue "Did make offence, his eye did heal it up: "He is not very tall, yet for his years he's tall; "His leg is but fo fo, and yet 'tis well;

"There was a pretty redness in his lip, "A little riper, and more lufty red,

"Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the diffe

"rence

"Betwixt the conftant red and mingled damafk. "There be fome women, Sylvius, had they mark'd him "In parcels as I did, would have gone near VOL. II.

Z.

" To

"To fall in love with him; but, for my part, "I love han not, nor hate him not; and yet "I have more caufe to hate him than to love him; "For what had he to do to chide at me ?

"He faid mine eyes were black, and my hair black;
And, now I am remembred, fcorn'd at me.
"I marvel why I anfwer'd not again;
"But that's all one, omittance is no quittance.
I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Sylvius ?
Syl. Phebe, with all my heart.
Phe. I'll write it straight;

The matter's in my head, and in my heart,
I will be bitter with him, and paffing short.
Go with me, Sylvius.

ACT IV.

[Exeunt.

SCENE I.

Jaq.

I

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Continues in the foreft.

Enter Rofalind, Celia, and Jaques.

Pr'ythee, pretty youth, let me be better ac quainted with thee.

Rof. They fay you are a melancholy fellow.

Jaq. I am fo; I do love it better than laughing. Rof. Thofe that are in extremity of either are abo minable fellows; and betray themfelves to every mo dern cenfure, worse than drunkards. o

Jaq. Why, tis good to be fad, and say nothing. Rof. Why then, 'tis good to be a poft.

Jaq. I have neither the fcholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the foldier's, which is ambitious; nor the lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these but it is a melancholy of mine own, com pounded of many fimples, extracted from many objects, and, indeed, the fundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous fadnefs.

Rof. A traveller! by my faith, you have great reafon to be fad; I fear you have fold your own lands to fee

⚫ther

other mens; then, to have seen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes, and poor hands.

Jaq. Yes, I have gain'd me experience.
Enter Orlando.

Rof. And your experience makes you fad: I had rather have a fool to make ine merry, than experience to make me fad, and to travel for it too.

Orla. Good day and happinefs, dear Rofalind! Jaq. Nay, then God b'w'y you, and you talk in blank verfe.

64

Ref.

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Farewel, Monfieur Traveller; look you lis, " and wear frange fuits; difable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making you countenance you are; or I will fearce think you "have fwam in a gondola. Why, how now, Orlando, "where have you been all this while? You a lover? an you ferve me fuch another trick, never come in my fight more.

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Orla. My fair Rofalind, I come within an hour of my promife.

Rof. "Break an hour's promife in love! he that will "divide a minute into a thoufand parts, and break "but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the "affairs of love, it may be faid of him, that Cupid "hath clapt him o' th' fhoulder, but I'll warrant him "heart-whole.

Orla. Pardon me, dear Rofalind.

Rof. Nay, an you be fo tardy, come no more in my fight I had as lief be woo'd of a snail.

:

Orla. Of a fnail?

Rof. "Ay, of a fnail; for though he comes flowly, "he carries his houfe on his head: a better jointure, "I think, than you make a woman. Befides, he brings "his destiny with him.

Orla. What's that?

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Rof. Why, horns; which fuch as you are fain to "be beholden to your wives for: but he comes armed "in his fortune, and prevents the flander of his wife.

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Orla. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rofalind is virtuous.

Ref. And I am your Rofalind.

Cel. It pleafes him to call you fo; but he hath a Rofalind of a better leer than you.

Rof. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour, and like enough to confent. What would you fay to me now an I were your very, very Rofalind?

Orla. I would kifs before I fpoke.

Rof. Nay, you were better fpeak firft; and when you were gravell'd for lack of matter, you might take occafion to kifs. Very good orators, when they are out, they will fpit; and for lovers lacking, God warn us, matter, the cleanlieft fhift is to kifs.

Orla. How if the kifs be denied?

Rof. Then the puts you to intreaty, and there begins

new matter.

Orla. Who could be out, being before his beloved miftrefs?

Rof. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress; or I fhould think my honefty ranker than my wit. Orla. What, of my fuit?

Rof. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your fuit. Am not I your Rofalind?

Orla. I take fome joy to fay you are; because I would be talking of her.

Rof. Well, in her perfon, I fay, I will not have you. Orla. Then in mine own perfon I die.

Rof. No, faith, die by attorney; the poor world is almoft fix thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own perfon, videlicet, in a love-caufe. Troilus had his brains dafh'd out with a Grecian club, yet he did what he could to die before; and he is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would have liv'd many a fair year, though Hero had turn'd nun, if it had not been for a hot midfummernight; for, good youth, he went but forth to wash'in the Hellefpont, and being taken with the cramp, was drown'd; and the foolish chroniclers of that age found it was,-Hero, of Seftos. But thefe are all lyes; men

have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.

Orla. I would not have my right Rofalind of this mind; for I proteft her frown might kill me.

Rof. By this hand, it will not kill a fly: but come;" now I will be your Rofalind in a more coming-on difpofition; and ask me what you will; I will grant it. Orla. Then love me, Rofalind.

Rof. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays and all.
Orla. And wilt thou have me?

Ref. Ay, and twenty fuch..
Orla. What fay'ft thou?
Ref. Are you not good?
Orla. I hope fo.

Rof. Why then, can one defire too much of a good thing? Come, fifter, you shall be the priest, and marry us. Give me your hand, Orlando. What do you fay, fifter?

Orla. Pray thee, marry us.

Cel. I cannot fay the words.

Ref. You must begin,Will yon, Orlando

Cel. Go to; will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rofalind?

Orla. I will.

Ref. Ay, but when?

Orla. Why now, as fast as she can marry us.

Ref. Then you must say, I take thee Rofalind for

wife.

Orla. I take thee Rofalind for wife.

Ref. I might afk you for your commiffion, but I do

take thee Orlando for my husband: there's a girl goes before the prieft, and certainly a woman's thought runs before her actions.

Orla. So do all thoughts; they are wing'd.

Rof. Now tell me, how long would you have her, after you have poffefs'd her?

Orla. For ever and a day.

Rof. 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-pidgeon

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