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

[Exeunt.

ACT IV.

IV. SCENE I.

THE FOREST.

Enter Rofalind, Celia, and Jaques.

JAQUES.

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

Rof. They fay, you are a melancholy fellow. Juq. I am fo, I do love it better than laughing. Rof. Thofe, that are in extremity of either, are abominable fellows; and betray themselves to every modern cenfure, worse than drunkards.

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

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 politick; nor the lady's, which is nice; nor the lover's, which is all thefe: but it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of many fimples, extracted from many objects, and, indeed, the fundry contemplation of my travels, on which my often rumination wraps me in a moft humourous fadness.

Rof. A traveller! By my faith, you have great reafon to be fad I fear, you have fold your own lands, to fee other mens; then, to have feen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands. Jaq. Yes, I have gain'd me experience.

Enter

Enter Orlando.

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

Orla. Good day, and happiness, dear Rosalind! Jaq. Nay then--God b'w'y you, an you talk in blank verse. [Exit. Rof. Farewel, monfieur traveller: look, you lifp, and wear strange suits; difable all the benefits of your own country; be out of love with your nativity, and almost chide God for making you that countenance you are; or I will fcarce think, you have swam 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. Orla. My fair Rofalind, I come within an hour of my promise.

Rof. 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 faid of him, that Cupid hath clapt him o' the fhoulder, but I'll warrant him heartwhole.

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?

3-fwam in a gondola.] That is, been at Venice, the feat at that time of all licentioufnefs, where the young English gentlemen wafted their fortunes, debafed their morals, and fometimes loft their religion.

The fashion of travelling, which prevailed very much in our author's time, was confidered by the wifer men as one of the principal causes of corrupt manners. It was therefore gravely cenfured by Afcham in his Schoolmaster, and by bishop Hall in his Quo Vadis; and is here, and in other paffages, ridiculed by Shakefpeare. JOHNSON.

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

Orla. What's that?

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

Rof. And I am your Rofalind.

Cel. It pleases 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 holyday 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 he puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.

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

mi

Rof. Marry, that should you, if I were your ftrefs; 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.

Ref. Well, in her perfon, I fay, I will not have you.

Orla,

Orla. Then, in mine own perfon, I die.

Rof. No, faith, die by attorney. The poor world is almost 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 dash'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, tho' Hero had turn'd nun, if it had not been for a hot midfummer night: 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 these 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 difposition; 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?

Rof. Ay, and twenty fuch.
Orla. What fay'st thou?
Rof. 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 say, fifter?

Orla. Pray thee, marry us.

-chroniclers of that age.] Sir T. Hanmer reads, coroners, by the advice, as Dr. Warburton hints, of fome anonymous critick."

Cel. I cannot fay the words.

Rof. You must begin,-Will you, OrlandoCel. Go to Will you, Orlando, have to wife this Rofalind?

Orla. I will.

Rof. Ay, but when?

Orla. Why now; as fast as fhe can marry us. Ref. Then you must fay, I take thee Rofalind for wife:

Orla. I take thee Rofalind for wife.

Rof. I might afk you for your commiffion; 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.

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

Rof. Now tell me, how long would you have her, after you have poffeft her.

Orla. For ever and a day.

Rof. Say a day, without the ever. No, no, Or lando; men are April when they woo, December when they wed: maids are May when they are maids, but the fky 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 defires than a monkey; I will weep for nothing, like Diana in the fountain; and I will do that, when you are difpos'd to be merry; I will laugh like a hyen, and that when you are inclin'd to fleep."

Orla. But will my Rofalind do fo?
Rof. By my life, fhe will do as I do.

I will laugh like a byen,] The bark of the hyena very much refembles a loud laugh.

STEEVENS.

—and that when you are inclin'd to SLEEP.] We fhould read, to WEEP. WARBURTON.

I know not why we should read to weep. I believe moft men would be more angry to have their fleep hindered than their grief interrupted. JOHNSON.

Orla