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I have been with Sir Oliver Martext, the vicar of the next village, who hath promised to meet me in this place of the forest, and to couple us. Jaq. Aside. I would fain see this meeting. Aud. Well, the gods give us joy!
Touch. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no assembly but horn-beasts. But what though? Courage! As horns are odious, they are necessary. said, 'many a man knows no end of his goods': right; many a man has good horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife; 'tis none of his own getting. Horns? Even so. Poor men alone? No, no; the noblest deer hath them as huge as the rascal. Is the single man therefore blessed? No: as a walled town is more worthier than a village, so is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor; and by how much defence is better than no skill, by so much is a horn more precious than to want. Here comes Sir Oliver.
Enter Sir OLIVER MARTEXT.
Sir Oliver Martext, you are well met will you dispatch us here under this tree, or shall we go with you to your chapel?
Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman? Touch. I will not take her on gift of any
Sir Oli. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.
Jaq. Coming forward. Proceed, proceed: I'll give her.
Touch. Good even, good Master What-ye-call 't: how do you, sir? You are very well met : God 'ild you for your last company: I am very glad to see you: even a toy in hand here, sir: nay, pray be covered.
Jaq. Will you be married, motley?
Touch. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb, and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling.
Jaq. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a bush like a beggar? Get you to church, and have a good priest that can tell you what marriage is this fellow will but join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will prove a shrunk panel, and like green timber, warp, warp. 92
Touch. Aside. I am not in the mind but I were better to be married of him than of another: for he is not like to marry me well, and not being well married, it will be a good excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife.
Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.
O sweet Oliver!
Leave me not behind thee:
I will not to wedding with thee. Exeunt JAQUES, TOUCHSTONE, and AUDREY.
Ros. Not true in love?
Cel. Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in. Ros. You have heard him swear downright he was.
Cel. 'Was' is not 'is' besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmers of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest on the duke your father.
Ros. I met the duke yesterday and had much question with him. He asked me of what parentage I was; I told him, of as good as he; so he laughed and let me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando?
Cel. O that's a brave man. He writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose. But all's brave that youth mounts and folly guides. Who comes here?
SCENE V.-Another Part of the Forest.
Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE.
Than any of her lineaments can show her.
Sil. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Sell when you can; you are not for all markets.
Say that you love me not, but say not so
Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck
If ever, as that ever may be near,
Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not;
As till that time I shall not pity thee.
Cry the man mercy; love him; take his offer:
I had rather hear you chide than this man woo.
Phe. For no ill will I bear you.
Ros. I pray you, do not fall in love with me,
"Tis at the tuft of olives here hard by.
Exeunt ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN. Phe. Dead shepherd, now I find thy saw of might:
'Who ever lov'd that lov'd not at first sight?' Sil. Sweet Phebe,
Ha! what say'st thou, Silvius ?
Phe. Why, I am sorry for thee, gentle Silvius.
Phe. Thou hast my love: is not that neigh-
Why, that were covetousness.
Ros. And why, I pray you? Who might be I will endure, and I'll employ thee too;
That you insult, exult, and all at once,
Over the wretched? What though you have no beauty
As, by my faith, I see no more in you
But do not look for further recompense
Sil. Not very well, but I have met him oft;
Phe. Think not I love him, though I ask for him.
He'll make a proper man: the best thing in him
Did make offence his eye did heal it up.
your nativity, and almost chide God for making He is not very tall; yet for his years he's tall: you that countenance you are; or I will scarce His leg is but so so; and yet 'tis well: There was a pretty redness in his lip, A little riper and more lusty red Than that mix'd in his cheek; 'twas just the difference
think you have swam in a gondola. Why, how
Ros. Break an hour's promise in love! He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o' the shoulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole.
Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind.
Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I had as lief be wooed of a snail. Orl. Of a snail?
Betwixt the constant red and mingled damask. There be some women, Silvius, had they mark'd him
In parcels as I did, would have gone near
Sil. Phebe, with all my heart.
SCENE I.-The Forest of Arden.
Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and JAQUES.
Jaq. I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better acquainted with thee.
Ros. They say you are a melancholy fellow. Jaq. I am so; I do love it better than laughing. Ros. Those that are in extremity of either are abominable fellows, and betray themselves to every modern censure worse than drunkards.
Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing. Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post. Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which is emulation; nor the musician's, which is fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud; nor the soldier'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, compounded of many simples, extracted from many objects, and indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels, in which my often rumination wraps me in a most humorous sadness.
Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reason to be sad. I fear you have sold your own lands to see other men's; then, to have seen much and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands.
Ros. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly, he carries his house on his head; a better jointure, I think, than you make a woman: besides, he brings his destiny with him.
Orl. What's that?
Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience. Ros. And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad; and to travel for
Ros. Why, horns; which such as you are fain to be beholding to your wives for: but he comes armed in his fortune and prevents the slander of his wife.
Orl. What, of my suit?
Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of Am not I your Rosalind? your suit.
Orl. I take some joy to say you are, because I would be talking of her.
Ros. Well, in her person I say I will not have you.
Orl. Then in mine own person I die. Ros. No, faith, die by attorney. world is almost six thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-cause. Troilus had his brains dashed out with a Grecian club; Orl. Good day and happiness, dear Rosalind! yet he did what he could to die before, and he Jaq. Nay then, God be wi' you, an you talk is one of the patterns of love. Leander, he would in blank verse. Exit. have lived many a fair year, though Hero had Ros. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you turned nun, if it had not been for a hot midlisp and wear strange suits, disable all the bene-summer-night for, good youth, he went but fits of your own country, be out of love with forth to wash him in the Hellespont, and being
Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.
Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved mistress?
Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker
than my wit.
taken with the cramp was drowned; and the | You shall never take her without her answer, foolish coroners of that age found it was 'Hero of Sestos.' But these are all lies: men have died from time to time, and worms have eaten them, but not for love.
unless you take her without her tongue. 0! 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, 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.
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?
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 breakpromise, 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. Pray thee, marry us.
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 love-prate: we must have your doublet and hose plucked over your head, and show the world what the bird hath done to her own nest.
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. I will.
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's 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. For ever 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 hyen, and that when thou art inclined to sleep.
Orl. But will my Rosalind do so?
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?'
Ros. Nay, you might keep that check for it till you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.
Orl. And what wit could wit have to excuse that?
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.
Sil. My errand is to you, fair youth.
Ros. Patience herself would startle at this letter,
Sil. No, I protest, I know not the contents:
Ros. Why, 'tis a boisterous and a cruel style,
Sil. So please you, for I never heard it yet;
Ros. She Phebes me. Mark how the tyrant
Art thou god to shepherd turn'd,
Can a woman rail thus ?
Sil. Call you this railing?
Warr'st thou with a woman's heart?
Whiles the eye of man did woo me,
Meaning me a beast.
If this scorn of your bright eyne
Whiles you chid me, I did love;
Sil. Call you this chiding?
Ros. Do you pity him? no; he deserves no pity. Wilt thou love such a woman? What, to make thee an instrument and play false strains upon thee! not to be endured! Well, go your way to her, for I see love hath made thee a tame snake, and say this to her: that if she love me, I charge her to love thee; if she will not, I will never have her unless thou entreat for her. If you be a true lover, hence, and not a word, for Exit SILVIUS. here comes more company.
Where in the purlieus of this forest stands
The rank of osiers by the murmuring stream
Oli. If that an eye may profit by a tongue,
What man I am, and how, and why, and where
I pray you, tell it. Oli. When last the young Orlando parted from you
He left a promise to return again
And high top bald with dry antiquity,
And with indented glides did slip away