you been all this while? You a lover?an you serve 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 thoufandth 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 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 fnail.

Orla. Of a fnail?

Rof. Ay, of a fnail; for tho' 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 pleafes 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,

mafter, and by Bishop Hall in his other paffages, ridiculed by ShakeQuo Vadis, and is here, and in Speare.

they

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 fhe puts you to entreaty, and there begins new matter.

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

Rof. Marry, that fhould you, if I were your miftrefs; 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.

Rof. Well, in her perfon, I say, I will not have you. Orla. Then in mine own perfon I die.

Ref. No, faith, die by attorney; the poor world is almoft 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 dafh'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.

Ref. By this hand, it will not kill a fly- but come;

5 —chroniclers of that age.] Sir T. Hanmer reads, coroners, by the

advice, as Dr. Warburton hints, of fome anonymous critick.

now

now I will be your Rofalind in a more coming on difpofition; and afk me what yau will, I will grant it. Orla. Then love me, Rofalind.

all.

Rof. Yes, faith, will I, Fridays and Saturdays, and

Orla. And wilt thou have me?
Rof. Ay, and twenty fuch.
Orla. What fay't 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 Sifter?

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 fhe can marry us.
Rof. Then you must fay, I take thee Rofalind for

wife.

Orla. I take thee Rofalind for wife.

Rof. I might ask 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, Orlando, 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-pigcon 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.
Orla. O, but he is wife.

Rof. Or elfe, fhe could not have the wit to do this; the wifer, the waywarder: make the doors faft upon a woman's wit, and it will out at the cafement; fhut 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, wither wilt?

Rof. Nay, you might keep that check for it, 'till you meet your wife's wit going to your neighbour's bed. Orla. And what wit could wit have to excuse that? Rof. Marry, to fay fhe came to feek you there. You fhall never take her without her anfwer, 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 herfelf, for fhe will breed it like a fool!

Orla. For these two hours, Rofalind, 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 caft away, and fo come deathtwo o'th' clock is your hour!

Orla. Ay, fweet Rofalind.

Rof. 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 promife, or come one minute behind your hour, I will think you the most pathetical break-promise, and the most 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 promife.

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

Rof. Well, time is the old Juftice that examines all fuch offenders, and let time try. Adieu! [Exit Orla.

Cel. You have fimply mifus'd our fex in your loveprate: we must have your doublet and hose pluck'd over your head, and fhew the world what the bird hath done to her own neft.

Rof. O coz, coz, coz, my pretty little coz, that thon didit 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

9 — I will think you the most PATHETICAL break-promife,] There is neither fenfe nor humour in this expreffion. We 'fhould certainly read,ATHEISTICAL break-promife. His anfwer confirms it, that he would

keep his promife with no lefs Religion, than

WARBURTON. I do not fee but that pathetical may ftand, which feems to afford as much fenfe and as much hamour as atheistical.

one's