AS YOU LIKE IT. 301 wife and perpend; civet is of a baser birth than tarr; the very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the inftance, fhepherd. Cor. You have too courtly a wit for me; I'll rest. Clo. Wilt thou reft damn'd? God help thee, shallow man; God make incifion in thee, thou art raw. Cor. Sir, I am a true labourer, I earn that I eat; get that I wear; owe no man hate, envy no man's happinefs; glad of other men's good, content with my harm; and the greatest of my pride is, to fee my ewes graze, and my lambs fuck. Clo. That is another fimple fin in you, to bring the ewes and the rams together; and to offer to get your living by the copulation of cattle; to be a bawd to a bell-weather; and to betray a fhe-lamb of a twelvemonth to a crooked-pated old cuckoldly ram, out of all reasonable match. If thou be'ft not damn'd for this, the devil himself will have no fhepherds; I cannot fee else how thou should'ft 'scape. Cor. Here comes young Mr. Ganimed, my new miftrefs's brother. Enter Rofalind, with a paper. Rof. From the east to western Inde, Her worth, being mounted on the wind, Are but black to Rofalind; Let no face be kept in mind, Clo. I'll rhime you fo, eight years together; dinners, and fuppers, and fleeping hours excepted: it is the right butter-women's rank to market. Rof. Out, fool! Clo. For a taste. If a hart doth lack a bind, Let him feek out Rofalind. If the cat will after kind, They, that reap, must sheaf and bind; Sweeteft nut hath foureft rind, Such a nut is Rofalind. He that fweeteft rofe will find, Muft find love's prick, and Rofalind. This is the very falfe gallop of verfes; why do you in fect your felf with them? Rof. Peace, you dull fool, I found them on a tree. Clo. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit. Rof. I'll graff it with you, and then I fhall graff it with a medler; then it will be the earlieft fruit i' th' country; for you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medler. Clo. You have faid; but whether wifely or no, let the Foreft judge. Enter Celia, with a writing. Rof. Peace, here comes my Sifter reading; ftand afide. 1 Cel. Why Should this a Defart be, 'Twixt the fouls of friend and friend; Or at every fentence end, Will I Rofalinda write; Teaching all, that read, to know, By heav'nly fynod was devis'd; To have the Touches deareft priz'd. Rof. O moft gentle Jupiter!- what tedious homily of love have you wearied your Parishioners withal, 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 Cor. and Clown. Cel. Didit thou hear these verses? Rof. 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. Rof. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the verfe, and therefore stood lamely in the verse. Cel. But didft thou hear without wondring, how thy name should be hang'd and carv'd upon these trees? Rof. I was feven of the nine days out of wonder, before you came: for, look here, what I found on a palm palm-tree; I was never fo be rhimed fince Pyth time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly ber. Cel. Trow you, who hath done this? Rof. Is it a man ? Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, ab neck Change you colour? Rof. I pr'ythee, who? Cel. O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for to meet; but mountains may be removed with quakes, and fo encounter. Rof. Nay, but who is it? Cel. Is it poffible? Rof. Nay, I pr'y thee now, with most petit vehemence, tell me who it is. Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most won wonderful, and yet again wonderful, and after the of all whooping Rof. Odd's, my complexion! doft thou think, th I am caparifon'd like a man, I have a doublet and in my difpofition? (6) One inch of delay more South-fea off difcovery. I pr'ythee, tell me, w it; quickly, and fpeak apace; I would thou co ftammer, that thou might'ft pour this concealed out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a nar mouth'd bottle; either too much at once, or none a I pr'ythee, take the cork out of thy mouth, that I drink thy tidings. Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. Rof. Is he of God's making? what manner of n is his head worth a hat ? or his chin worth a beard? Cel. Nay, he hath but a little beard. Rof. Why, God will fend more, if the man will thankful; let me ftay the growth of his beard, if t delay me not the knowledge of his chin. (6) One Inch of Delay more is a South-fea of Discovery ; South-fea of Difcovery: This is ftark Nonfenfe; Wer readoff Discovery i. e. from Discovery. "If you d As You LIKE IT. 305 Cel. It is young Orlando, that tripp'd up the wreftler's heels and your heart both in an instant. Rof. Nay, but the devil take mocking; fpeak, fad brow, and true maid. Cel. I'faith, coz, 'tis he. Rof. Orlando! Cel. Orlando. Rof. Alas the day, what fhall I do with my doublet and hofe? what did he, when thou faw'ft him? what faid 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 fhalt thou fee him again? anfwer me in one word. Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's mouth firft; 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's fize: to fay, ay, and no, to these particulars, is more than to anfwer in a catechifm. Rof. 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 eafie to count atoms, as to refolve the propofitions of a lover: but take a tafte of my finding him and relish it with good obfervance. I found him under a tree like a dropp'd acorn. Rof. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops forth fuch fruit. Cel. Give me audience, good Madam. Rof. Proceed. Cel. There lay he ftretch'd along like a wounded Knight. Rof. 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. Rof. Oh, ominous"! he comes to kill my heart. Cel. I would fing my fong without a burthen; thou bring'ft me out of tune. Rof. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I muft fpeak: Sweet, fay on. Enter |