Some of violated vows, 'Twixt the fouls of friend and friend; But upon the fairest boughs, Or at every fentence' end, Will I Rofalinda write; Teaching all, that read, to know, Heaven would in little fhow. Helen's cheeks, but not her heart, Sad Lucretia's modefty. Thus Rofalind of many parts By heav'nly fynod was devis'd; To have the touches dearest priz'd. Heav'n would that she these gifts should have, And I fhould live and die her slave. Ros. O moft gentle Jupiter!-what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withall, and never cry'd, have patience, good people? CEL. How now? back-friends!-fhepherd, go off a little go with him, firrah. CLO. Come, fhepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; tho' not with bag and baggage, yet with fcrip and fcrippage. [Exeunt Corin. and Clown. SCENE VI. CEL. Didst thou hear thefe verfes ? Ros. O yes, I heard them all, and more too; for fome of them had in them more feet than the verfes would bear. CEL. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses. Ros. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the verfe, and therefore ftood lamely in the verfe. CEL. But didft thou hear, without wondring, how thy name should be hang'd and carv'd upon these trees? Ros. 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? Ros. Is it a man? CEL. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck: change you colour? Ros. I pr'ythee, who? CEL. O lord, lord, it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be remov'd with earthquakes, and fo encounter. Ros. Nay, but who is it? CEL. Is it poffible? Ros. Nay, I pr'ythee now, with most 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 Ros. Good my complexion! doft thou think, though I am caparifon'd like a man, I have a doublet and hofe in my difpofition? One inch of delay more is a South-fea off discovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, who is it; quickly, and speak apace; I would thou couldst ftammer, that thou might'ft pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wines comes out of a narrow-mouth'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 fend 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. CEL. It is young Orlando, that tripp'd up the wrestler's heels and your heart both in an instant. Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking; speak, fad brow, and true maid. CEL. I'faith, coz, 'tis he. Ros. Orlando! CEL. Orlando. Ros. Alas the day, what fhall I do with my doublet and hofe? what did he, when thou faw'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 fee him again? answer me in one word. CEL. You must borrow me Garagantua's mouth first; 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's fize. To fay, ay, and no, to thefe particulars, is more than to answer in a catechifm. Ros. But doth he know that I am in this foreft, and in man's apparel? looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled? CEL. It is as easy to count atoms, as to refolve the propofitions of a lover: but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good obfervance. I found him under an oak tree like a dropp'd acorn. Ros. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops forth fuch fruit. CEL. Give me audience, good madam. Ros. Proceed. CEL. There lay he stretch'd along like a wounded knight. Ros. Tho' it be pity to fee fuch a fight, it well becomes the ground. CEL. Cry, holla! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee; it curvets unfeasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter. Ros. Oh, ominous! he comes to kill my heart. CEL, I would, fing my fong without a burthen; thou bring'ft me out of tune. Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I muft fpeak-Sweet, fay on. SCENE VII. Enter Orlando and Jaques. CEL. You bring me out. Soft, comes he not here? Ros. 'Tis he; flink by, and note him. [Celia and Rofalind retire. JAQ, I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself 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. JaQ. I pray you marr no more trees with writing lovefongs 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, just. JAQ. I do not like her name. ORLA. There was no thought of pleafing you, when the was chriften'd. JAQ What ftature is she of? ORLA. Juft as high as my heart. JAQ. You are full of pretty answers; have you not been acquainted with goldfmith's wives, and conn'd them out of rings? ORLA. Not fo; but I anfwer you like painted cloth, from whence you have studied 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 againft our mistrefs, the world, and all our misery. ORLA. I will chide no breather in the world but myself, against whom I know most 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 feeking for a fool, when I found you. ORLA. He is drown'd in the brook; but look in, and you fhall fee him. JAQ. There I shall fee mine own figure. ORLA. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cypher. JAQ. I'll stay no longer with you; farewell, good fignior love! [Exit. |