University of Virginia Library

Actus Tertius.

Scena Prima.

Enter Duke, Lords, & Oliuer.
Du.
Not see him since? Sir, sir, that cannot be:
But were I not the better part made mercie,
I should not seeke an absent argument
Of my reuenge, thou present: but looke to it,
Finde out thy brother wheresoere he is,
Seeke him with Candle: bring him dead, or liuing
Within this tweluemonth, or turne thou no more
To seeke a liuing in our Territorie.
Thy Lands and all things that thou dost call thine,
Worth seizure, do we seize into our hands,
Till thou canst quit thee by thy brothers mouth,
Of what we thinke against thee.

Ol.
Oh that your Highnesse knew my heart in this:
I neuer lou'd my brother in my life.

Duke.
More villaine thou. Well push him out of dores
And let my officers of such a nature
Make an extent vpon his house and Lands:
Do this expediently, and turne him going.

Exeunt

Scena Secunda.

Enter Orlando.
Orl.
Hang there my verse, in witnesse of my loue,
And thou thrice crowned Queene of night suruey
With thy chaste eye, from thy pale spheare aboue
Thy Huntresse name, that my full life doth sway.
O Rosalind, these Trees shall be my Bookes,
And in their barkes my thoughts Ile charracter,
That euerie eye, which in this Forrest lookes,
Shall see thy vertue witnest euery where.
Run, run Orlando, carue on euery Tree.
The faire, the chaste, and vnexpressiue shee.

Exit
Enter Corin & Clowne.
Co.

And how like you this shepherds life M
r Touchstone?

Clow.

Truely Shepheard, in respect of it selfe, it is a
good life; but in respect that it is a shepheards life, it is
naught. In respect that it is solitary, I like it verie well:
but in respect that it is priuate, it is a very vild life. Now
in respect it is in the fields, it pleaseth mee well: but in
respect it is not in the Court, it is tedious. As it is a spare
life (looke you) it fits my humor well: but as there is no
more plentie in it, it goes much against my stomacke.
Has't any Philosophie in thee shepheard?

Cor.

No more, but that I know the more one sickens,
the worse at ease he is: and that hee that wants money,
meanes, and content, is without three good frends. That
the propertie of raine is to wet, and fire to burne: That
pood pasture makes fat sheepe: and that a great cause of
the night, is lacke of the Sunne: That hee that hath learned
no wit by Nature, nor Art, may complaine of good
breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred.

Clo.

Such a one is a naturall Philosopher:
Was't euer in Court, Shepheard?

Cor.

No truly.

Clo.

Then thou art damn'd.

Cor.

Nay, I hope.

Clo.

Truly thou art damn'd, like an ill roasted Egge,
all on one side.

Cor.

For not being at Court? your reason.

Clo.

Why, if thou neuer was't at Court, thou neuer
saw'st good manners: if thou neuer saw'st good maners,
then thy manners must be wicked, and wickednes is sin,
and sinne is damnation: Thou art in a parlous state shepheard.

Cor.

Not a whit Touchstone, those that are good maners
at the Court, are as ridiculous in the Countrey, as
the behauiour of the Countrie is most mockeable at the
Court. You told me, you salute not at the Court, but
you kisse your hands; that courtesie would be vncleanlie
if Courtiers were shepheards.

Clo.

Instance, briefly: come, instance.

Cor.

Why we are still handling our Ewes, and their
Fels you know are greasie.

Clo.

Why do not your Courtiers hands sweate? and
is not the grease of a Mutton, as wholesome as the sweat
of a man? Shallow, shallow: A better instance I say:
Come.

Cor.

Besides, our hands are hard.

Clo.

Your lips wil feele them the sooner. Shallow agen:
a more sounder instance, come.

Cor.

And they are often tarr'd ouer, with the surgery
of our sheepe: and would you haue vs kisse Tarre? The
Courtiers hands are perfum'd with Ciuet.

Clo.

Most shallow man: Thou wormes meate in respect
of a good peece of flesh indeed: learne of the wise
and perpend: Ciuet is of a baser birth then Tarre, the
verie vncleanly fluxe of a Cat. Mend the instance Shepheard.

Cor.

You haue too Courtly a wit, for me, Ile rest.

Clo.

Wilt thou rest damn'd? God helpe thee shallow
man: God make incision in thee, thou art raw.

Cor.

Sir, I am a true Labourer, I earne that I eate: get
that I weare; owe no man hate, enuie no mans happinesse:
glad of other mens good content with my harme:
and the greatest of my pride, is to see my Ewes graze, &
my Lambes sucke.

Clo.

That is another simple sinne in you, to bring the
Ewes and the Rammes together, and to offer to get your
liuing, by the copulation of Cattle, to be bawd to a Bel-weather,
and to betray a shee-Lambe of a tweluemonth
to a crooked-pated olde Cuckoldly Ramme, out of all
reasonable match. If thou bee'st not damn'd for this, the
diuell himselfe will haue no shepherds, I cannot see else
how thou shouldst scape.

Cor.

Heere comes yong M
r Ganimed, my new Mistrisses Brother.

Enter Rosalind.
Ros.
From the east to western Inde,
no iewel is like Rosalinde,
Hir worth being mounted on the winde,
through all the world beares Rosalinde,
All the pictures fairest Linde,
are but blacke to Rosalinde:
Let no face bee kept in mind,
but the faire of Rosalinde.

Clo.

Ile rime you so, eight yeares together; dinners,
and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted: it is the right
Butter-womens ranke to Market.

Ros.

Out Foole.

Clo.

For a taste.

This is the verie false gallop of Verses, why doe you infect
your selfe with them?

Ros.

Peace you dull foole, I found them on a tree.

Clo.

Truely the tree yeelds bad fruite.

Ros.

Ile graffe it with you, and then I shall graffe it
with a Medler: then it will be the earliest fruit i'th country:
for you'l be rotten ere you bee halfe ripe, and that's
the right vertue of the Medler.

Clo.

You haue said: but whether wisely or no, let the
Forrest iudge.

Enter Celia with a writing.
Ros.

Peace, here comes my sister reading, stand aside.

Cel.
Why should this Desert bee,
for it is vnpeopled? Noe:
Tonges Ile hang on euerie tree,
that shall ciuill sayings shoe.
Some, how briefe the Life of man
runs his erring pilgrimage,
That the stretching of a span,
buckles in his summe of age.
Some of violated vowes,
twixt the soules of friend, and friend:
But vpon the fairest bowes,
or at euerie sentence end;
Will I Rosalinda write,
teaching all that reade, to know
The quintessence of euerie sprite,
heauen would in little show.
Therefore heauen Nature charg'd,
that one bodie should be fill'd
With all Graces wide enlarg'd,
nature presently distill'd
Helens cheeke, but not his heart,
Cleopatra's Maiestie:
Attalanta's better part,
sad Lucrecia's Modestie.
Thus Rosalinde of manie parts,
by Heauenly Synode was deuis'd,
Of manie faces, eyes, and hearts,
to haue the touches deerest pris'd.
Heauen would that shee these gifts should haue,
and I to liue and die her slaue.

Ros.

O most gentle Iupiter, what tedious homilie of
Loue haue you wearied your parishioners withall, and
neuer cri'de, haue patience good people.

Cel.

How now backe friends: Shepheard, go off a little:
go with him sirrah.

Clo.

Come Shepheard, let vs make an honorable retreit,
though not with bagge and baggage, yet with
scrip and scrippage.

Exit.
Cel.

Didst thou heare these verses?

Ros.

O yes, I heard them all, and more too, for some
of them had in them more feete then the Verses would
beare.

Cel.

That's no matter: the feet might beare y
e verses.

Ros.

I, but the feet were lame, and could not beare
themselues without the verse, and therefore stood lamely
in the verse.

Cel.

But didst thou heare without wondering, how
thy name should be hang'd and carued vpon these trees?

Ros.

I was seuen of the nine daies out of the wonder,
before you came: for looke heere what I found on a
Palme tree; I was neuer so berim d since Pythagoras time
that I was an Irish Rat, which I can hardly remember.

Cel.

Tro you, who hath done this?

Ros.

Is it a man?

Cel.

And a chaine that you once wore about his neck:
change you colour?

Ros.

I pre'thee who?

Cel.

O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends to
meete; but Mountaines may bee remoou'd with Earthquakes,
and so encounter.

Ros.

Nay, but who is it?

Cel.

Is it possible?

Ros.

Nay, I pre'thee now, with most petitionary vehemence,
tell me who it is.

Cel.

O wonderfull, wonderfull, and most wonderfull
wonderfull, and yet againe wonderful, and after that out
of all hooping.

Ros.

Good my complection, dost thou think though
I am caparison'd like a man, I haue a doublet and hose in
my disposition? One inch of delay more, is a South-sea
of discouerie. I pre'thee tell me, who is it quickely, and
speake apace: I would thou couldst stammer, that thou
might'st powre this conceal'd man out of thy mouth, as
Wine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd bottle: either too
much at once, or none at all. I pre'thee take the Corke
out of thy mouth, that I may drinke thy tydings.

Cel.

So you may put a man in your belly.

Ros.

Is he of Gods 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 send more, if the man will bee
thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou
delay me not the knowledge of his chin.

Cel.

It is yong Orlando, that tript vp the Wrastlers
heeles, and your heart, both in an instant.

Ros.

Nay, but the diuell take mocking: speake sadde
brow, and true maid.

Cel.

I'faith (Coz) tis he.

Ros.

Orlando?

Cel.

Orlando.

Ros.

Alas the day, what shall I do with my doublet &
hose? What did he when thou saw'st him? What sayde
he? How look'd he? Wherein went he? What makes hee
heere? Did he aske for me? Where remaines he? How
parted he with thee? And when shalt thou see him againe?
Answer me in one vvord.

Cel.

You must borrow me Gargantuas mouth first:
'tis a Word too great for any mouth of this Ages size, to
say I and no, to these particulars, is more then to answer
in a Catechisme.

Ros.

But doth he know that I am in this Forrest, and
in mans apparrell? Looks he as freshly, as he did the day
he Wrastled?

Cel.

It is as easie to count Atomies as to resolue the
propositions of a Louer: but take a taste of my finding
him, and rellish it with good obseruance. I found him
vnder a tree like a drop'd Acorne.

Ros.

It may vvel be cal'd Ioues tree, when it droppes
forth fruite.

Cel.

Giue me audience, good Madam.

Ros.

Proceed.

Cel.

There lay hee stretch'd along like a Wounded
knight.

Ros.

Though it be pittie to see such a sight, it vvell
becomes the ground.

Cel.

Cry holla, to the tongue, I prethee: it curuettes
vnseasonably. He was furnish'd like a Hunter.

Ros.

O ominous, he comes to kill my Hart.

Cel.

I would sing my song without a burthen, thou
bring'st me out of tune.

Ros.
Do you not know I am a woman, when I thinke,
I must speake: sweet, say on.

Enter Orlando & Iaques.
Cel.
You bring me out. Soft, comes he not heere?

Ros.
'Tis he, slinke by, and note him.

Iaq
I thanke you for your company, but good faith
I had as liefe haue beene my selfe alone.

Orl.
And so had I: but yet for fashion sake
I thanke you too, for your societie.

Iaq.
God buy you, let's meet as little as we can.

Orl.
I do desire we may be better strangers.

Iaq.
I pray you marre no more trees vvith Writing
Loue-songs in their barkes.

Orl.

I pray you marre no moe of my verses with residing
them ill-fauouredly.

Iaq.

Rosalinde is your loues name?

Orl.

Yes, Iust.

Iaq.

I do not like her name.

Orl.

There was no thought of pleasing you when she
was christen'd.

Iaq.

What stature is she of?

Orl.

Iust as high as my heart.

Iaq.

You are ful of prety answers: haue you not bin acquainted
with goldsmiths wiues, & cond thē out of rings

Orl.

Not so: but I answer you right painted cloath,
from whence you haue studied your questions.

Iaq.

You haue a nimble wit; I thinke 'twas made of
Attalanta's heeles. Will you sitte downe with me, and
wee two, will raile against our Mistris the world, and all
our miserie.

Orl.

I wil chide no breather in the world but my selfe

against whom I know most faults.

Iaq.

The worst fault you haue, is to be in loue.

Orl.

'Tis a fault I will not change, for your best vertue:
I am wearie of you.

Iaq.

By my troth, I was seeking for a Foole, when I
found you.

Orl.

He is drown'd in the brooke, looke but in, and
you shall see him.

Iaq.

There I shal see mine owne figure.

Orl.

Which I take to be either a foole, or a Cipher.

Iaq.

Ile tarrie no longer with you, farewell good signior
Loue.

Orl.

I am glad of your departure: Adieu good Monsieur
Melancholly.

Ros.

I wil speake to him like a sawcie Lacky. and vnder
that habit play the knaue with him, do you hear Forrester.

Orl.

Verie wel, what would you?

Ros.

I pray you, what i'st aclocke?

Orl.

You should aske me what time o'day: there's no
clocke in the Forrest.

Ros.

Then there is no true Louer in the Forrest, else
sighing euerie minute, and groaning euerie houre wold
detect the lazie foot of time, as wel as a clocke.

Orl.

And why not the swift foote of time? Had not
that bin as proper?

Ros.

By no meanes sir; Time trauels in diuers paces,
with diuers persons: Ile tel you who Time ambles withall,
who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal,
and who he stands stil withall.

Orl.

I prethee, who doth he trot withal?

Ros.

Marry he trots hard with a yong maid, between
the contract of her marriage, and the day it is solemnizd:
if the interim be but a sennight, Times pace is so hard,
that it seemes the length of seuen yeare.

Orl.

Who ambles Time withal?

Ros.

With a Priest that lacks Latine, and a rich man
that hath not the Gowt: for the one sleepes easily because
he cannot study, and the other liues merrily, because
he feeles no paine: the one lacking the burthen of
leane and wasteful Learning; the other knowing no burthen
of heauie tedious penurie. These Time ambles
withal.

Orl.

Who doth he gallop withal?

Ros.

With a theefe to the gallowes: for though hee
go as softly as foot can fall, he thinkes himselfe too soon
there.

Orl.

Who staies it stil withal?

Ros.

With Lawiers in the vacation: for they sleepe
betweene Terme and Terme, and then they perceiue not
how time moues.

Orl.

Where dwel you prettie youth?

Ros.

With this Shepheardesse my sister: heere in the
skirts of the Forrest, like fringe vpon a petticoat.

Orl.

Are you natiue of this place?

Ros.

As the Conie that you see dwell where shee is
kindled.

Orl.

Your accent is something finer, then you could
purchase in so remoued a dwelling.

Ros.

I haue bin told so of many: but indeed, an olde
religious Vnckle of mine taught me to speake, who was
in his youth an inland man; one that knew Courtship too
well: for there he fel in loue. I haue heard him read many
Lectors against it, and I thanke God, I am not a Woman
to be touch'd with so many giddie offences as hee
hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal.

Orl.

Can you remember any of the principall euils,
that he laid to the charge of women?

Ros.

There were none principal, they were all like
one another, as halfe pence are, euerie one fault seeming
monstrous, til his fellow-fault came to match it.

Orl.

I prethee recount some of them.

Ros.

No: I wil not cast away my physick, but on those
that are sicke. There is a man haunts the Forrest, that abuses
our yong plants with caruing Rosalinde on their
barkes; hangs Oades vpon Hauthornes, and Elegies on
brambles; all (forsooth) defying the name of Rosalinde.
If I could meet that Fancie-monger, I would giue him
some good counsel, for he seemes to haue the Quotidian
of Loue vpon him.

Orl.

I am he that is so Loue-shak'd, I pray you tel
me your remedie.

Ros.

There is none of my Vnckles markes vpon you:
he taught me how to know a man in loue: in which cage
of rushes, I am sure you art not prisoner.

Orl.

What were his markes?

Ros.

A leane cheeke, which you haue not: a blew eie
and sunken, which you haue not: an vnquestionable spirit,
which you haue not: a beard neglected, which you
haue not: (but I pardon you for that, for simply your hauing
in beard, is a yonger brothers reuennew) then your
hose should be vngarter'd, your bonnet vnbanded, your
sleeue vnbutton'd, your shoo vnti'de, and euerie thing
about you, demonstrating a carelesse desolation: but you
are no such man; you are rather point deuice in your accoustrements,
as louing your selfe, then seeming the Louer
of any other.

Orl.

Faire youth, I would I could make thee beleeue I Loue.

Ros.

Me beleeue it? You may assoone make her that
you Loue beleeue it, which I warrant she is apter to do,
then to confesse she do's: that is one of the points, in the
which women stil giue the lie to their consciences. But
in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the
Trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired?

Orl.

I sweare to thee youth, by the white hand of
Rosalind, I am that he, that vnfortunate he.

Ros.

But are you so much in loue, as your rimes speak?

Orl.

Neither rime nor reason can expresse how much.

Ros.

Loue is meerely a madnesse, and I tel you, deserues
as wel a darke house, and a whip, as madmen do:
and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cured, is
that the Lunacie is so ordinarie, that the whippers are in
loue too: yet I professe curing it by counsel.

Orl.

Did you euer cure any so?

Ros.

Yes one, and in this manner. Hee was to imagine
me his Loue, his Mistris: and I set him euerie day
to woe me At which time would I, being but a moonish
youth, greeue, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and
liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, ful
of teares, full of smiles; for euerie passion something, and
for no passion truly any thing, as boyes and women are
for the most part, cattle of this colour: would now like
him, now loath him: then entertaine him, then forswear
him: now weepe for him, then spit at him; that I draue
my Sutor from his mad humor of loue, to a liuing humor
of madnes, w
c was to forsweare the ful stream of ye world, and to liue in a nooke meerly Monastick: and thus I cur'd
him, and this way wil I take vpon mee to wash your Liuer
as cleane as a sound sheepes heart, that there shal not
be one spot of Loue in't.

Orl.

I would not be cured, youth.

Ros.

I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind,
and come euerie day to my Coat, and woe me.

Orlan.

Now by the faith of my loue, I will; Tel me
where it is.

Ros.

Go with me to it, and Ile shew it you: and by
the way, you shal tell me, where in the Forrest you liue:
Wil you go?

Orl.

With all my heart, good youth.

Ros.

Nay, you must call mee Rosalind: Come sister,
will you go?

Exeunt.

Scœna Tertia.

Enter Clowne, Audrey, & Iaques.
Clo.

Come apace good Audrey, I wil fetch vp your
Goates, Audrey: and how Audrey am I the man yet?
Doth my simple feature content you?

Aud.

Your features, Lord warrant-vs: what features?

Clo.

I am heere with thee, and thy Goats, as the most
capricious Poet honest Ouid was among the Gothes.

Iaq.

O knowledge ill inhabited, worse then loue in
a thatch'd house.

Clo.

When a mans verses cannot be vnderstood, nor
a mans good wit seconded with the forward childe, vnderstanding:
it strikes a man more dead then a great reckoning
in a little roome: truly, I would the Gods hadde
made thee poeticall.

Aud.

I do not know what Poetical is: is it honest in
deed and word: is it a true thing?

Clo.

No trulie: for the truest poetrie is the most faining,
and Louers are giuen to Poetrie: and what they
sweare in Poetrie, may be said as Louers, they do feigne.

Aud.

Do you wish then that the Gods had made me
Poeticall?

Clow.

I do truly: for thou swear'st to me thou art honest:
Now if thou wert a Poet, I might haue some hope
thou didst feigne.

Aud.

Would you not haue me honest?

Clo.

No truly, vnlesse thou wert hard fauour'd: for
honestie coupled to beautie, is to haue Honie a sawce to
Sugar.

Iaq.

A materiall foole.

Aud.

Well, I am not faire, and therefore I pray the
Gods make me honest.

Clo.

Truly, and to cast away honestie vppon a foule
slut, were to put good meate into an vncleane dish.

Aud.

I am not a slut, though I thanke the Goddes I
am foule.

Clo.

Well, praised be the Gods, for thy foulnesse; sluttishnesse
may come heereafter. But be it, as it may bee,
I wil marrie thee: and to that end, I haue bin with Sir
Oliuer Mar-text, the Vicar of the next village, who hath
promis'd to meete me in this place of the Forrest, and to
couple vs.

Iaq.

I would faine see this meeting.

Aud.

Wel, the Gods giue vs ioy.

Clo.

Amen. A man may if he were of a fearful heart,
stagger in this attempt: for heere wee haue no Temple
but the wood, no assembly but horne-beasts. But what
though? Courage. As hornes are odious, they are necessarie.
It is said, many a man knowes no end of his goods;
right: Many a man has good Hornes, and knows no end
of them. Well, that is the dowrie of his wife, 'tis none
of his owne getting; hornes, euen so poore men alone:
No, no, the noblest Deere hath them as huge as the Rascall:
Is the single man therefore blessed? No, as a wall'd
Towne is more worthier then a village, so is the forehead
of a married man, more honourable then the bare
brow of a Batcheller: and by how much defence is better
then no skill, by so much is a horne more precious
then to want.
Enter Sir Oliuer Mar-text.
Heere comes Sir Oliuer: Sir Oliuer Mar-text you are
wel met. Will you dispatch vs heere vnder this tree, or
shal we go with you to your Chappell?

Ol.

Is there none heere to giue the woman?

Clo.

I wil not take her on guift of any man.

Ol.

Truly she must be giuen, or the marriage is not
lawfull.

Iaq.

Proceed, proceede: Ile giue her.

Clo.

Good euen good M
r what ye cal't: how do you Sir, you are verie well met: goddild you for your last
companie, I am verie glad to see you, euen a toy in hand
heere Sir: Nay, pray be couer'd.

Iaq.

Wil you be married, Motley?

Clo.

As the Oxe hath his bow sir, the horse his curb,
and the Falcon her bels, so man hath his desires, and as
Pigeons bill, so wedlocke would be nibling.

Iaq.

And wil you (being a man of your breeding) be
married vnder a bush like a begger? Get you to church,
and haue a good Priest that can tel you what marriage is,
this fellow wil but ioyne you together, as they ioyne
Wainscot, then one of you wil proue a shrunke pannell
and like greene timber, warpe, warpe.

Clo.

I am not in the minde, but I were better to bee
married of him then of another, for he is not like to marrie
me wel: and not being wel married, it wil be a good
excuse for me heereafter, to leaue my wife.

Iaq.
Goe thou with mee,
And let me counsel thee.

Ol.
Come sweete Audrey,
We must be married, or we must liue in baudrey:

Farewel good M
r Oliuer: Not O sweet Oliuer, O braue Oliuer leaue me not behind thee: But winde away, bee
gone I say, I wil not to wedding with thee.

Ol.

'Tis no matter; Ne're a fantastical knaue of them
all shal flout me out of my calling.

Exeunt

Scœne Quarta.

Enter Rosalind & Celia.
Ros.

Neuer talke to me, I wil weepe.

Cel.

Do I prethee, but yet haue the grace to consider,
that teares do not become a man.

Ros.

But haue I not cause to weepe?

Cel.

As good cause as one would desire,
Therefore weepe.

Ros.

His very haire
Is of the dissembling colour.

Cel.

Something browner then Iudasses:
Marrie his kisses are Iudasses owne children.

Ros.

I'faith his haire is of a good colour.

Cel.

An excellent colour:
Your Chessenut was euer the onely colour:

Ros.

And his kissing is as ful of sanctitie,
As the touch of holy bread.

Cel.

Hee hath bought a paire of cast lips of Diana: a
Nun of winters sisterhood kisses not more religiouslie,
the very yce of chastity is in them.

Rosa.

But why did hee sweare hee would come this
morning, and comes not?

Cel.

Nay certainly there is no truth in him.

Ros.

Doe you thinke so?

Cel.

Yes, I thinke he is not a picke purse, nor a horse-stealer,
but for his verity in loue, I doe thinke him as
concaue as a couered goblet, or a Worme-eaten nut.

Ros.

Not true in loue?

Cel.

Yes, when he is in, but I thinke he is not in.

Ros.

You haue heard him sweare downright he was.

Cel.

Was, is not is: besides, the oath of Louer is no
stronger then the word of a Tapster, they are both the
confirmer of false reckonings, he attends here in the forrest
on the Duke your father.

Ros.

I met the Duke yesterday, and had much question
with him: he askt me of what parentage I was; I
told him of as good as he, so he laugh'd and let mee goe.
But what talke wee of Fathers, when there is such a man
as Orlando?

Cel.

O that's a braue man, hee writes braue verses,
speakes braue words, sweares braue oathes, and breakes
them brauely, quite trauers athwart the heart of his louer,
as a puisny Tilter, y
t spurs his horse but on one side, breakes his staffe like a noble goose; but all's braue that
youth mounts, and folly guides: who comes heere?

Enter Corin.
Corin.
Mistresse and Master, you haue oft enquired
After the Shepheard that complain'd of loue,
Who you saw sitting by me on the Turph,
Praising the proud disdainfull Shepherdesse
That was his Mistresse.

Cel.
Well: and what of him?

Cor.
If you will see a pageant truely plaid
Betweene the pale complexion of true Loue,
And the red glowe of scorne and prowd disdaine,
Goe hence a little, and I shall conduct you
If you will marke it.

Ros.
O come, let vs remoue,
The sight of Louers feedeth those in loue:
Bring vs to this sight, and you shall say
Ile proue a busie actor in their play.

Exeunt.

Scena Quinta.

Enter Siluius and Phebe.
Sil.
Sweet Phebe doe not scorne me, do not Phebe
Say that you loue me not, but say not so
In bitternesse; the common executioner
Whose heart th'accustom'd sight of death makes hard
Falls not the axe vpon the humbled neck,
But first begs pardon: will you sterner be
Then he that dies and liues by bloody drops?

Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Corin.
Phe.
I would not be thy executioner,
I flye thee, for I would not iniure thee:
Thou tellst me there is murder in mine eye,
'Tis pretty sure, and very probable,
That eyes that are the frailst, and softest things,
Who shut their coward gates on atomyes,
Should be called tyrants, butchers, murtherers.
Now I doe frowne on thee with all my heart,
And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee:
Now counterfeit to swound, why now fall downe,
Or if thou canst not, oh for shame, for shame,
Lye not, to say mine eyes are murtherers:
Now shew the wound mine eye hath made in thee,
Scratch thee but with a pin, and there remaines
Some scarre of it: Leane vpon a rush
The Cicatrice and capable impressure
Thy palme some moment keepes: but now mine eyes
Which I haue darted at thee, hurt thee not,
Nor I am sure there is no force in eyes
That can doe hurt.

Sil.
O deere Phebe,
If euer (as that euer may be neere)
You meet in some fresh checke the power of fancie,
Then shall you know the wounds inuisible
That Loues keene arrows make.

Phe.
But till that time
Come not thou neere me: and when that time comes,
Afflict me with thy mockes, pitty me not,
As till that time I shall not pitty thee.

Ros.
And why I pray you? who might be your mother
That you insult, exult, and all at once
Ouer the wretched? what though you hau no beauty
As by my faith, I see no more in you
Then without Candle may goe darke to bed:
Must you be therefore prowd and pittilesse?
Why what meanes this? why do you looke on me?
I see no more in you then in the ordinary
Of Natures sale-worke?' ods my little life,
I thinke she meanes to tangle my eies too:
No faith proud Mistresse, hope not after it,
'Tis not your inkie browes, your blacke silke haire,
Your bugle eye-balls, nor your cheeke of creame
That can entame my spirits to your worship:
You foolish Shepheard, wherefore do you follow her
Like foggy South puffing with winde and raine,
You are a thousand times a properer man
Then she a woman. 'Tis such fooles as you
That makes the world full of ill-fauourd children:
'Tis not her glasse, but you that flatters her,
And out of you she sees her selfe more proper
Then any of her lineaments can show her:
But Mistris, know your selfe, downe on your knees
And thanke heauen, fasting, for a good mans loue;
For I must tell you friendly in your eare,
Sell when you can, you are not for all markets:
Cry the man mercy, loue him, take his offer,
Foule is most foule, being foule to be a scoffer.
So take her to thee Shepheard, fare you well.

Phe.
Sweet youth, I pray you chide a yere together,
I had rather here you chide, then this man wooe.

Ros.
Hees falne in loue with your foulnesse, & shee'll
Fall in loue with my anger. If it be so, as fast
As she answeres thee with frowning lookes, ile sauce
Her with bitter words: why looke you so vpon me?

Phe.
For no ill will I beare you.

Ros.
I pray you do not fall in loue with mee,
For I am falser then vowes made in wine:
Besides, I like you not: if you will know my house,
'Tis at the tufft of Oliues, here hard by:
Will you goe Sister? Shepheard ply her hard:
Come Sister: Shepheardesse, looke on him better
And be not proud, though all the world could see,
None could be so abus'd in sight as hee.
Come, to our flocke,

Exit.
Phe.
Dead Shepheard, now I find thy saw of might,
Who euer lov'd, that lou'd not at first sight?

Sil.
Sweet Phebe.

Phe.
Hah: what saist thou Siluius?

Sil.
Sweet Phebe pitty me.

Phe.
Why I am sorry for thee gentle Siluius.

Sil.
Where euer sorrow is, reliefe would be:
If you doe sorrow at my griefe in loue,
By giuing loue your sorrow, and my griefe
Were both extermin'd.

Phe.
Thou hast my loue, is not that neighbourly?

Sil.
I would haue you.

Phe.
Why that were couetousnesse:
Siluius; the time was, that I hated thee;
And yet it is not, that I beare thee loue,
But since that thou canst talke of loue so well,
Thy company, which erst was irkesome to me
I will endure; and Ile employ thee too:
But doe not looke for further recompence
Then thine owne gladnesse, that thou art employd.

Sil.
So holy, and so perfect is my loue,
And I in such a pouerty of grace,
That I shall thinke it a most plenteous crop
To gleane the broken eares after the man
That the maine haruest reapes: loose now and then
A scattred smile, and that Ile liue vpon.

Phe.
Knowst thou the youth that spoke to mee yerewhile?

Sil.
Not very well, but I haue met him oft,
And he hath bought the Cottage and the bounds
That the old Carlot once was Master of.

Phe.
Thinke not I loue him, though I ask for him,
'Tis but a peeuish boy, yet he talkes well,
But what care I for words? yet words do well
When he that speakes them pleases those that heare:
It is a pretty youth, not very prettie,
But sure hee's proud, and yet his pride becomes him;
Hee'll make a proper man: the best thing in him
Is his complexion: and faster then his tongue
Did make offence, his eye did heale it vp:
He is not very tall, yet for his yeeres hee's tall:
His leg is but so so, and yet 'tis well:
There was a pretty rednesse in his lip,
A little riper, and more lustie red
Then that mixt in his cheeke: 'twas iust the difference
Betwixt the constant red, and mingled Damaske.
There be some women Siluius, had they markt him
In parcells as I did, would haue gone neere
To fall in loue with him: but for my part
I loue him not, nor hate him not: and yet
Haue more cause to hate him then to loue him,
For what had he to doe to chide at me?
He said mine eyes were black, and my haire blacke,
And now I am remembred, scorn'd at me:
I maruell why I answer'd not againe,
But that's all one: omittance is no quittance:
Ile write to him a very tanting Letter,
And thou shalt beare it, wilt thou Siluius?

Sil.
Phebe, with all my heart.

Phe.
Ile write it strait;
The matter's in my head, and in my heart,
I will be bitter with him, and passing short;
Goe with me Siluius.

Exeunt.