woman, and I'll be married to-morrow: [To Orl.] I will satisfy you, if ever I satisfied man, and you shall be married to-morrow: [To Sil.] I will content you, if what pleases you contents you, and you shall be married to-morrow. [To Orl.] As you love Rosalind, meet: [To Sil.] as you love Phebe, meet; and as I love no woman, I'll meet. So fare you well: I have left you commands. Sil. I'll not fail, if I live. Phe. Nor I.

And therefore take the present time,
With a hey, and a ho, and a hey nonino;
For love is crowned with the prime
In spring time, &c.

Touch. Truly, young gentlemen, though there was no great matter in the ditty, yet the note was very untuneable.

First Page. You are deceived, sir: we kept time, we lost not our time.

Touch. By my troth, yes; I count it but time lost to hear such a foolish song. God be wi' you; and God mend your voices! Come, Audrey. [Exeunt.

SCENE IV.-The forest.

Enter Duke senior, Amiens, Jaques, Orlando, Oliver, and Celia.

Duke S. Dost thou believe, Orlando, that the boy Can do all this that he hath promised?

Orl. I sometimes do believe, and sometimes do not; As those that fear they hope, and know they fear.

Enter Rosalind, Silvius, and Phebe.

Duke S. That would I, had I kingdoms to give with her.

[her?

Ros. And you say, you will have her, when I bring Orl. That would I, were I of all kingdoms king. Ros. You say, you'll marry me, if I be willing? Phe. That will I, should I die the hour after. Ros. But if you do refuse to marry me, You'll give yourself to this most faithful shepherd? Phe. So is the bargain.

Ros. You say, that you 'll have Phebe, if she will? Sil. Though to have her and death were both one thing.

Ros. I have promised to make all this matter even. Keep you your word, O duke, to give your daughter; You yours, Orlando, to receive his daughter: Keep your word, Phebe, that you'll marry me, Or else refusing me, to wed this shepherd: Keep your word, Silvius, that you 'll marry her, If she refuse me: and from hence I go, To make these doubts all even.

[Exeunt Rosalind and Celia. Duke S. I do remember in this shepherd boy Some lively touches of my daughter's favour. Orl. My lord, the first time that I ever saw him Methought he was a brother to your daughter: But, my good lord, this boy is forest-born, And hath been tutor'd in the rudiments Of many desperate studies by his uncle, Whom he reports to be a great magician, Obscured in the circle of this forest.

Enter Touchstone and Audrey.

Jaq. There is, sure, another flood toward, and these couples are coming to the ark. Here comes a pair of very strange beasts, which in all tongues are called fools.

Touch. Salutation and greeting to you all!

Jaq. Good my lord, bid him welcome: this is the motley-minded gentleman that I have so often met in the forest: he hath been a courtier, he swears.

Touch. If any man doubt that, let him put me to my purgation. I have trod a measure: I have flattered a lady; I have been politic with my friend, smooth with mine enemy; I have undone three tailors; I have had four quarrels, and like to have fought one.

Jaq. And how was that ta'en up?

Touch. Faith, we met, and found the quarrel was upon the seventh cause.

Jaq. How seventh cause? Good my lord, like this fellow.

Duke S. I like him very well.

Touch. God 'ild you, sir; I desire you of the like. I press in here, sir, amongst the rest of the country copulatives, to swear and forswear; according as marriage binds and blood breaks; a poor virgin, sir, an ill-favoured thing, sir, but mine own; a poor humour of mine, sir, to take that that no man else will: rich honesty dwells like a miser, sir, in a poor house; as your pearl in your foul oyster.

Duke S. By my faith, he is very swift and sententious.

Touch. According to the fool's bolt, sir, and such

dulcet diseases.

Jaq. But, for the seventh cause; how did you find the quarrel on the seventh cause?

Touch. Upon a lie seven times removed:-bear your body more seeming, Audrey:-as thus, sir. I did dislike the cut of a certain courtier's beard: he sent me word, if I said his beard was not cut well, he was in the mind it was: this is called the Retort Courteous. If I sent him word again 'it was not well cut,' he would send me word, he cut it to please himself: this is called the Quip Modest. If again

urged:

You say, if I bring in your Rosalind, You will bestow her on Orlando here?

is called the Reply Churlish. If again it was not well cut,' he would answer, I spake not true: this is called the Reproof Valiant. If again 'it was not

well cut,' he would say, I lied: this is called the Countercheck Quarrelsome: and so to the Lie Circumstantial and the Lie Direct.

Jaq. And how oft did you say his beard was not well cut?

Touch. I durst go no further than the Lie Circumstantial, nor he durst not give me the Lie Direct; and so we measured swords and parted. Jaq. Can you nominate in order now the degrees of the lie?

Touch. O sir, we quarrel in print, by the book; as you have books for good manners: I will name you the degrees. The first, the Retort Courteous; the second, the Quip Modest; the third, the Reply Churlish; the fourth, the Reproof Valiant; the fifth, the Countercheck Quarrelsome; the sixth, the Lie with Circumstance; the seventh, the Lie Direct. All these you may avoid but the Lie Direct; and you may avoid that too, with an If. I knew when seven justices could not take up a quarrel, but when the parties were met themselves, one of them thought but of an If, as, 'If you said so, then I said so;' and they shook hands and swore brothers. Your If is the only peace-maker; much virtue in If. Jaq. Is not this a rare fellow, my lord? he's as good at any thing and yet a fool.

Duke S. He uses his folly like a stalking-horse and under the presentation of that he shoots his wit. Enter Hymen, Rosalind, and Celia. Still Music.

Good duke, receive thy daughter: Hymen from heaven brought her,

Yea, brought her hither,

That thou mightst join her hand with his Whose heart within his bosom is. Ros. [To Duke] To you I give myself, for I am yours. [To Orl.] To you I give myself, for I am yours. Duke S. If there be truth in sight, you are my daughter.

Orl. If there be truth in sight, you are my Rosalind. Phe. If sight and shape be true,

Why then, my love adieu!

Ros. I'll have no father, if you be not he:
I'll have no husband, if you be not he:
Nor ne'er wed woman, if you be not she.
Hym. Peace, ho! I bar confusion:

"T is I must make conclusion

Of these most strange events:
Here's eight that must take hands
To join in Hymen's bands,

If truth holds true contents.
You and you no cross shall part:
You and you are heart in heart:
You to his love must accord,
Or have a woman to your lord:
You and you are sure together,
As the winter to foul weather.
Whiles a wedlock-hymn we sing,
Feed yourselves with questioning;
That reason wonder may diminish,
How thus we met, and these things finish.

SONG.

Wedding is great Juno's crown:

O blessed bond of board and bed!
'Tis Hymen peoples every town;
High wedlock then be honoured:
Honour, high honour and renown,
To Hymen, god of every town!

Duke S. O my dear niece, welcome thou art to Even daughter, welcome, in no less degree. [me! Phe. I will not eat my word, now thou art mine; Thy faith my fancy to thee doth combine.

Enter Jaques de Boys.

Jaq. de B. Let me have audience for a word or
I am the second son of old Sir Rowland, [two:
That bring these tidings to this fair assembly.
Duke Frederick, hearing how that every day
Men of great worth resorted to this forest,
Address'd a mighty power; which were on foot,
In his own conduct, purposely to take
His brother here and put him to the sword:
And to the skirts of this wild wood he came;
Where meeting with an old religious man,
After some question with him, was converted
Both from his enterprise and from the world,
His crown bequeathing to his banish'd brother,
And all their lands restored to them again
That were with him exiled. This to be true,
I do engage my life.
Duke S.
Welcome, young man;
Thou offer'st fairly to thy brothers' wedding:
To one his lands withheld, and to the other
A land itself at large, a potent dukedom.
First, in this forest let us do those ends
That here were well begun and well begot:
And after, every of this happy number
That have endured shrewd days and nights with us
Shall share the good of our returned fortune,
According to the measure of their states.
Meantime, forget this new-fall'n dignity
And fall into our rustic revelry.

Play, music! And you, brides and bridegrooms all,
With measure heap'd in joy, to the measures fall.
Jaq. Sir, by your patience. If I heard you rightly,
The duke hath put on a religious life
And thrown into neglect the pompous court?
Jaq. de B. He hath.

Jaq. To him will I: out of these convertites There is much matter to be heard and learn'd. [To Duke] You to your former honour I bequeath; Your patience and your virtue well deserves it: [To Orl.] You to a love that your true faith doth [allies:

merit:

[To Oli.] You to your land and love and great To Sil.] You to a long and well-deserved bed: [To Touch.] And you to wrangling; for thy loving [ures:

Voyage

Is but for two months victuall'd. So, to your pleas-
I am for other than for dancing measures.
Duke S. Stay, Jaques, stay.

Jaq. To see no pastime I: what you would have I'll stay to know at your abandon'd cave. [Exit. Duke S. Proceed, proceed: we will begin these As we do trust they 'Il end, in true delights. [rites, [4 dance.

EPILOGUE.

Ros. It is not the fashion to see the lady the epilogue; but it is no more unhandsome than to see the lord the prologue. If it be true that good wine needs no bush, 't is true that a good play needs no epilogue; yet to good wine they do use good bushes, and good plays prove the better by the help of good epilogues. What a case am I in then, that am neither a good epilogue nor cannot insinuate with you in the behalf of a good play! I am not furnished like a beggar, therefore to beg will not become me: my way is to conjure you; and I'll begin with the women. I charge you, O women, for the love you bear to men, to like as much of this play as please you: and I charge you, O men, for the love you bear to women-as I perceive by your simpering, none of you hates them-that between you and the women the play may please. If I were a woman I would kiss as many of you as had beards that pleased me, complexions that liked me and breaths that I defied not: and, I am sure, as many as have good beards or good faces or sweet breaths will, for my kind offer, when I make curtsy, [Exeunt.

bid me farewell.

SCENE I.- Before an alehouse on a heath.

Enter Hostess and Sly.

Sly. I'll pheeze you, in faith.
Host. A pair of stocks, you rogue!

Sly. Ye are a baggage: the Slys are no rogues; look in the chronicles; we came in with Richard Conqueror. Therefore paucas pallabris; let the world slide: sessa! [burst? Host. You will not pay for the glasses you have Sly. No, not a denier. Go by, Jeronimy: go to thy cold bed, and warm thee.

Host. I know my remedy; I must go fetch the third-borough. [Exit. Sly. Third, or fourth, or fifth borough, I'll an-¦ swer him by law: I'll not budge an inch, boy: let him come, and kindly. [Falls asleep. Horns winded. Enter a Lord from hunting, with his train. Lord. Huntsman, I charge thee, tender well my hounds:

Brach Merriman, the poor cur is emboss'd;
And couple Clowder with the deep-mouth'd brach.
Saw'st thou not, boy, how Silver made it good
At the hedge-corner, in the coldest fault?

I would not lose the dog for twenty pound. [lord;
First Hun. Why, Belman is as good as he, my
He cried upon it at the merest loss
And twice to-day pick'd out the dullest scent:
Trust me, I take him for the better dog.

Lord. Thou art a fool: if Echo were as fleet,
I would esteem him worth a dozen such.
But sup them well and look unto them all:
To-morrow I intend to hunt again.
First Hun. I will, my lord.

Lord. What's here? one dead, or drunk? See, doth he breathe?

Sec. Hun. He breathes, my lord. Were he not warm'd with ale,

This were a bed but cold to sleep so soundly. [lies!
Lord. O monstrous beast! how like a swine he
Grim death, how foul and loathsome is thine image!
Sirs, I will practise on this drunken man.
What think you, if he were convey'd to bed,
Wrapp'd in sweet clothes, rings put upon his fingers,
A most delicious banquet by his bed,

And brave attendants near him when he wakes,
Would not the beggar then forget himself? [choose.
First Hun. Believe me, lord, I think he cannot
Sec. Hun. It would seem strange unto him when
he waked.
[fancy.
Lord. Even as a flattering dream or worthless
Then take him up and manage well the jest:
Carry him gently to my fairest chamber
And hang it round with all my wanton pictures:
Balm his foul head in warm distilled waters
And burn sweet wood to make the lodging sweet:
Procure me music ready when he wakes,
To make a dulcet and a heavenly sound;
And if he chance to speak, be ready straight
And with a low submissive reverence
Say What is it your honour will command?'
Let one attend him with a silver basin
Full of rose-water and bestrew'd with flowers;
Another bear the ewer, the third a diaper,
And say 'Will 't please your lordship cool your
Some one be ready with a costly suit
[hands?"
And ask him what apparel he will wear;
Another tell him of his hounds and horse,
And that his lady mourns at his disease:
Persuade him that he hath been lunatic;
And when he says he is, say that he dreams,
For he is nothing but a mighty lord.
This do and do it kindly, gentle sirs:
It will be pastime passing excellent,
If it be husbanded with modesty.

First Hun. My lord, I warrant you we will play
As he shall think by our true diligence [our part,
He is no less than what we say he is.
Lord. Take him up gently and to bed with him;
And each one to his office when he wakes.

[Some bear out Sly. A trumpet sounds. Sirrah, go see what trumpet 'tis that sounds: [Exit Servingman. Belike, some noble gentleman that means, Travelling some journey, to repose him here.

Re-enter Servingman.

How now! who is it?
Serv.
An't please your honour, players
That offer service to your lordship.
Lord. Bid them come near.

Enter Players.

Now, fellows, you are welcome. Players. We thank your honour. Lord. Do you intend to stay with me to-night? A Player. So please your lordship to accept our duty.

Lord. With all my heart. This fellow I remember, Since once he play'd a farmer's eldest son:

'Twas where you woo'd the gentlewoman so well:
I have forgot your name; but, sure, that part
Was aptly fitted and naturally perform'd. [means.
A Player. I think 't was Soto that your honour
Lord. Tis very true: thou didst it excellent.
Well, you are come to me in happy time;
The rather for I have some sport in hand
Wherein your cunning can assist me much.
There is a lord will hear you play to-night:
But I am doubtful of your modesties;
Lest over-eyeing of his odd behaviour,-
For yet his honour never heard a play,-
You break into some merry passion
And so offend him; for I tell you, sirs,
If you should smile he grows impatient.
A Player. Fear not, my lord: we can contain our-
Were he the veriest antič in the world.

[selves,

Lord. Go, sirrah, take them to the buttery,
And give them friendly welcome every one:
Let them want nothing that my house affords.
[Exit one with the Players.
Sirrah, go you to Barthol'mew my page,
And see him dress'd in all suits like a lady:
That done, conduct him to the drunkard's chamber;
And call him madam,' do him obeisance.
Tell him from me, as he will win my love,
He bear himself with honourable action,
Such as he hath observed in noble ladies
Unto their lords, by them accomplished:
Such duty to the drunkard let him do
With soft low tongue and lowly courtesy,
And say What is 't your honour will command,
Wherein your lady and your humble wife
May show her duty and make known her love?'
And then with kind embracements, tempting kisses,
And with declining head into his bosom,
Bid him shed tears, as being overjoy'd
To see her noble lord restored to health,
Who for this seven years hath esteemed him
No better than a poor and loathsome beggar:
And if the boy have not a woman's gift
To rain a shower of commanded tears,
An onion will do well for such a shift,
Which in a napkin being close convey'd
Shall in despite enforce a watery eye.

See this dispatch'd with all the haste thou canst :
Anon I'll give thee more instructions.
[Exit a Servingman.
I know the boy will well usurp the grace,
Voice, gait and action of a gentlewoman:
I long to hear him call the drunkard husband,
And how my men will stay themselves from laughter
When they do homage to this simple peasant.
I'll in to counsel them; haply my presence
May well abate the over-merry spleen
Which otherwise would grow into extremes.

[Exeunt.

SCENE II. - A bedchamber in the Lord's house. Enter aloft Sly, with Attendants; some with apparel, others with basin and ewer and other appurtenances;

and Lords.

Sly. For God's sake, a pot of small ale.

First Serv. Will 't please your lordship drink a cup of sack?

Sec. Serv. Will 't please your honour taste of these conserves?

Third Serv. What raiment will your honour wear

to-day?

Sly. I am Christophero Sly; call not me 'honour' nor lordship:' I ne'er drank sack in my life; and if you give me any conserves, give me conserves of beef: ne'er ask me what raiment I'll wear; for I have no more doublets than backs, no more stockings than legs, nor no more shoes than feet; nay, sometime more feet than shoes, or such shoes as my toes look through the over-leather.

Lord. Heaven cease this idle humour in your O, that a mighty man of such descent, [honour! Of such possessions and so high esteem, Should be infused with so foul a spirit!"

Sly. What, would you make me mad? Am not I Christopher Sly, old Sly's son of Burtonheath, by birth a pedlar, by education a cardmaker, by transmutation a bear-herd, and now by present profession a tinker? Ask Marian Hacket, the fat alewife of Wincot, if she know me not: if she say I am not fourteen pence on the score for sheer ale, score me up for the lyingest knave in Christendom. What! I am not bestraught: here 's

Third Serv. O, this it is that makes your lady
mourn!
[droop!
Sec. Serv. O, this it is that makes your servants
Lord. Hence comes it that your kindred shuns
your house,

As beaten hence by your strange lunacy.
O noble lord, bethink thee of thy birth,
Call home thy ancient thoughts from banishment
And banish hence these abject lowly dreams.
Look how thy servants do attend on thee,
Each in his office ready at thy beck.

Wilt thou have music? hark! Apollo plays [Music.
And twenty caged nightingales do sing:

Or wilt thou sleep? we 'll have thee to a couch
Softer and sweeter than the lustful bed

On purpose trimm'd up for Semiramis.

Say thou wilt walk; we will bestrew the ground:
Or wilt thou ride? thy horses shall be trapp'd,
Their harness studded all with gold and pearl.
Dost thou love hawking? thou hast hawks will soar
Above the morning lark: or wilt thou hunt?
Thy hounds shall make the welkin answer them
And fetch shrill echoes from the hollow earth.
First Serv. Say thou wilt course; thy greyhounds
are as swift

As breathed stags, ay, fleeter than the roe.
Sec. Serv. Dost thou love pictures? we will fetch
thee straight

Adonis painted by a running brook,

And Cytherea all in sedges hid,

[wood,

Which seem to move and wanton with her breath,
Even as the waving sedges play with wind.
Lord. We'll show thee Io as she was a inaid,
And how she was beguiled and surprised,
As lively painted as the deed was done.
Third Serv. Or Daphne roaming through a thorny
Scratching her legs that one shall swear she bleeds,
And at that sight shall sad Apollo weep,
So_workmanly the blood and tears are drawn.
Lord. Thou art a lord and nothing but a lord:
Thou hast a lady far more beautiful
Than any woman in this waning age. [for thee
First Serv. And till the tears that she hath shed
Like envious floods o'er-run her lovely face,
She was the fairest creature in the world;
And yet she is inferior to none.

Sly. Am I a lord? and have I such a lady?
Or do I dream? or have I dream'd till now?
I do not sleep: I see, I hear, I speak;

I smell sweet savours and I feel soft things:
Upon my life, I am a lord indeed
And not a tinker nor Christophero Sly.
Well, bring our lady hither to our sight;
And once again, a pot o' the smallest ale.