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, in which my often rumination wraps me in a moit humorous 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 seen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich eyes and poor hands.

Jaq. Yes, I have gain'd my experience.

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 Rofalina! Jaq. Nay, then God b'w'y you, an you talk in blank verse.

[Exit.

Rof. Farewel, monfieur traveller; look, you lifp, and wear ftrange fuits; 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 scarce 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 promife.

Rof. Break an hour's promife 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'th' fhoulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole.

Orla. Pardon me, dear Rofalind.

Ref. 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 ?

Rǝf. Ay of a fnail; for tho' 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?

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 pleafes him to call you fo; but he hath a Ro falind 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 Rosalind? Orla. I would kifs, before I fpoke.

Rof. Nay, you were better speak first, 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 cleanlielt fhift is to kifs.

Orla. How if the kifs be denied?

Ref. Then he puts you to entreaty, and there begins

new matter.

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

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

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

Orla. I take fome joy to say, 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 almost fix thousand years old, and in all this time there was not any man died in his own person, videlicet, in a love-caufe: Troilus had his brains dafh'd out with a Gracian 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 choniclers of that age found it was,Hero of Seftos. But thefe are all lies; 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 flie; but come now I will be your Rofalind in a more coming-on dif pofition; and afk 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 fhall 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.
Rof. You must begin,-

Will you, Orlando

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

Orla. I will.

Rof. Ay, but when?

Orla. Why now, as faft as the can marry us.

Raf. Then you must say, 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 hufband: there's a girl goes before the pricft, and certainly a woman's thought runs before her actions.

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

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

Orla. For ever and a day.

Ref.

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-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 sleep.

Orla. But will my Rofalind do fo?

Rof. By my life, fhe will do as I do.
Orla. O, but the is wife.

Rof. Or elfe he could not have the wit to do this; the wifer, the waywarder; Make the doors fast upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the casement; shut that, and 'twill out at the key hole; ftop that, it will fly with the fmoak out at the chimney.

Orla. A man that had a wife with fuch a wit, he might fay, wit, whither wilt?

Rof. Nay, you might keep that check for it, 'till you met your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed.

Oria. And what wit could wit have to excufe that? Rof. Marry, to fay fhe came to feek you there: you fhall never take her without her answer, unless you take her without her tongue. O that woman, that cannot make her fault her husband's occafion, let her never nurfe her child herself, for fhe will breed it like a fool!

Orla. For thefe two hours, Rosalind, I will leave thee. Rof. Alas, dear love, I cannot lack thee two hours. Orla. I must attend the Duke at dinner; by two o'clock I will be with thee again.

Rof. Ay, go your ways, go your ways; I knew what you would prove, my friends told me as much, and I thought no lefs; that flattering tongue. of yours won me; 'tis but one cast away, and fo come death: Two o'th' clock is your hour!

Orla. Ay, fweet Rofalind.

Rof. By my troth, and in good earnest, and fo God mend me, and by all pretty oaths that are not dangerous,

if you break one jot of your promife, or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promife, and the moft hollow lover, and the most unworthy of her you call Rofalind, that may be chofen out of the grofs band of the unfaithful; therefore beware my cenfure, and keep your promise.

Orla. With no lefs religion, than if thou wert indeed my Rofalind; fo adieu.

Rof. Well, time is the old justice that examines all fuch offenders, and let time try. Adieu! [Exit Orla. Cel You have fimply mifus'd our fex in your love-prate: We must have your doublet and hofe pluck'd over your head, and shew the world what the bird hath done to her own neft.

Rof. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thou didft know how many fathom deep I am in love; but it cannot be founded: My affection hath an unknown bottom, like the bay of Portugal.

Cel. Or rather, bottomlefs; that as fast as you pour affection in, it runs out.

Rof. No, that fame wicked baftard of Venus, that was begot of thought, conceiv'd of spleen, and born of madness, that blind rafcally boy, that abufes 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 fight of Orlando; I'll go find a fhadow, and figh 'till

he come.

Cel. And I'll fleep.

Enter Jaques, Lords, and Forefters.
Jaq. Which is he that kill'd the deer?
Lord. Sir, it was I.

[Exeunt.

Jaq. Let's prefent him to the Duke, like a Roman conqueror; and it would do well to fet the deer's horns upon his head, for a branch of victory; have you no song, forefter, for this purpose?

For. Yes, Sir.

Faq. Sing it; 'tis no matter how it be in tune, fo it make noise enough.

Mufick,