SCENE IX. Enter Clown, Audrey, and Jaques. Clo. Come apace, good Audrey, I will fetch up your goats, Audrey; and now, Audrey, am I the man yet? doth my fimple feature content you? Aud. Your features, Lord warrant us! what features? Clo. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet honeft Ovid was among the Goths. Jaq. O knowledge ill-inhabited, worfe than Jove in á thatch'd house! Clo. When a man's verfes cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit feconded with the forward child, understanding; it ftrikes a man more dead than a great reckoning in a little room: truly, I would the gods had made thee poetical. Aud. I do not know what poetical is; is it honeft in deed and word? is it a true thing? Clo. No, truly; for the trueft poetry is the most feigning; and lovers are given to poetry; and what they fwear in poetry, may be faid, as lovers, they do feign. Aud. Do you wish then, that the gods had made me poetical? Clo. I do, truly; for thou fwear'ft to me, thou art honeft: now, if thou wert a poet, I might have fome hope thou didst feign. Aud. Would you not have me honeft? Clo. No, truly, unless thou wert hard-favour'd; for honefty coupled to beauty, is, to have honey a fauce to fugar. Jaq. A material fool! Aud. Well, I am not fair; and therefore I pray the gods make me honest! Clo. Truly, and to caft away honefty upon a foul flut, were to put good meat into an unclean dish. Aud. I am not a flut, though I thank the gods I am foul. Clo. Well, praifed be the gods for thy foulness! fluttishness may come hereafter ! but be it as it may be, I will marry thee; and to that end I have been with Sir Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the next village, who hath promis'd to meet me in this place of the foreft, and to couple us. Jaq. I would fain fee this meeting. Clo. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, ftagger in this attempt; for here we have no temple but the wood, no affembly but horn-beafts. But what tho'? courage. As horns are odious, they are neceffary. It is faid, many a man knows no end of his goods: right; many a man has good horns, and knows no end of them. Well, that is the dowry of his wife, 'tis none of his own getting. Horns? even fo-poor men alone?—No, no, the nobleft deer hath them as huge as the rafcal. Is the fingle man therefore bleffed? No. As a wall'd town is more worthier than a village, fo is the forehead of a married man more honourable than the bare brow of a bachelor; and by how much defence is better than no skill, so much is a horn more precious than to want. Enter Sir Oliver Mar-text. Here comes Sir Oliver. Sir Oliver Mar-text, you are well met. Will you difpatch us here under this tree, or fhall we go with you to your chapel ? Sir Oli. Is there none here to give the woman? Sir Oli. Truly, fhe must be given, or the marriage is not lawful. Jaq. Proceed, proceed! I'll give her. Clo. Good even, good Mafter What-ye-call: how do you, Sir? you are very well met. God 'ild you for your laft company! I am very glad to fee you; even a toy in hand here, Sir: nay; pray, be covered. Jaq. Will you be married, Motley? Clo. As the ox hath his bow, Sir, the horse his curb, and the faulcon his bells, fo`man hath his defire; and as pidgeons bill, fo wedlock would be nibbling. Faq. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a bufh like a beggar? Get you to church, and have a good prieft that can tell you what marriage is this fellow will but join you together as they join wainscot; then one of you will prove a fhrunk pannel, and, like green timber, warp, warp. Clo. I am not in the mind, but I were better to be married of him than of another: for he is not like to marry me well; and not being well married, it will be a good excufe for me hereafter to leave my wife. Jaq. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee. Clo. Come, fweet Audrey, we must be married, or we muft live in bawdry. Farewel, good Sir Oliver; not O fweet Oliver, O brave Oliver, leave me not behind thee; but wind away, begone, I say, I will not to wedding with, thee. Sir Oli. 'Tis no matter; ne'er a fantastical knave of them all shall flout me out of my calling. [Exeunt. SCENE X. Changes to a cottage in the foreft. Enter Rofalind and Celia. Rof. Never talk to me, I will weep. Cel. Do, I pr'ythee; but yet have the grace to confider, that tears do not become a man. Rof. But have I not cause to weep? Gel. As good caufe as one would defire, therefore weep. Rof. His very hair is of the diffembling colour. Gel. Something browner than Judas's: marry, his kiffes are Judas's own children. Rof. I' faith, his hair is of a good colour. Cel. An excellent colour: your chefnut was ever the only colour. Rof. And his kiffing is as full of fanctity, as the touch of holy beard *. Cel. He hath bought a pair of caft lips of Diana; a nun of Winter's fifterhood kiffes not more religiously; the very ice of chastity is in them. Rof. But why did he swear he would come this morning, and comes not? Cel. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in him. Cel. Yes; I think he is not a pick-purfe nor a horseftealer; but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a cover'd goblet, or a worm-eaten nut. Ref. Not true in love? Cel. Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in. Rof. You have heard him fwear downright, he was. Meaning the kifs of charity from hermits and holy men. Gel. Was, is not is; befides, the oath of a lover is no ftronger than the word of a tapfter; they are both the confirmers of falfe reckonings; he attends here in the foreft on the Duke your father. Rof. I met the Duke yesterday, and had much queftion with him: he afk'd me, of what I told him, of as good as he; fo he laugh'd, and let parentage I was; me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is fuch a man as Orlando? Cel. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, Speaks brave words, fwears brave oaths, and breaks them bravely, quite travers, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puifny tilter, that fpurs his horfe but on one side, breaks his ftaff like a noble goose; but all's brave that youth mounts, and folly guides. Who comes here? Enter Corin. Cor. Miftrefs and Master, you have oft inquired Gel. Well, and what of him? Cor. If you will fee a pageant truly play'd, If Rof. O come, let us remove; The fight of lovers feedeth thofe in love: Bring us but to this fight, and you fhall fay [Exeunt. SCENE XI. Changes to another part of the foreft. Enter Sylvius and Phebe. Syl. Sweet Phebe, do not fcorn me; do not, Phebe; Say, that you love me not; but fay not fo In bitterness. The common executioner, Whose heart th' accuftom'd fight of death makes_hard, Falls not the ax upon the humble neck, But firft begs pardon: will you fterner be Than he that deals, and lives by, bloody drops. Enter Rofalind, Celia, and Corin. That eyes, that are the frail'ft and softest things, And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee: Thy palm fome moment keeps; but now mine eyes, Nor, I am fure, there is no force in eyes That can do hurt. Syl. O dear Phebe, If ever (as that ever may be near) You meet in fome fresh cheek the power of fancy, That love's keen arrows make. Phe. But till that time, Come not thou near me; and when that time comes, Afflict me with thy mocks, pity me not; As, till that time, I fhall not pity thee. Rof. And why, I pray you? who might be your That you infult, exult, and rail, at once [mother, Over the wretched? what though you have beauty, (As, by my faith, I fee no more in you Than without candle may go dark to bed), Muft you be therefore proud and pitilefs? Why, what means this? why do you look on me? I fee no more in you than in the ordinary Of nature's fale-work: odds, my little life! I think she means to tangle mine eyes too: No, faith, proud miftrefs, hope not after it; |