« ZurückWeiter »
Jaq. The worst fault you have is, to be in love.
Orla. He is drown'd in the brook; look but in, and you shall
Faq. There I shall see mine own figure.
Rof. I will speak to him like à saucy lackey, and under that
Orla. Very well; what would you?
Orla. You should ask me what time o' day; there's no clock
Ros. Then there is no true lover in the forest; else sighing every minute, and groaning every hour, would detect the lazy foot of time, as well as a clock.
Orla. And why not the swift foot of time? had not that been as proper ?
Rof. By no means, fir: time travels in divers paces with divers persons : l'll tell you who time ambles withal, who time trots withal, who time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.
Orla. I pr’ythee, whom doth he trot withal ?
Rof. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid, between the contract of her marriage, and the day it is folemniz'd: if the interim be but a sennight, time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven years.
Orla. Who ambles time withal ?
Rof. With a priest that lacks latin, and a rich man that hath not the gout: for the one Neeps easily because he cannot study,
and the other lives merrily because he feels no pain : the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning; the other knowing no burden of heavy tedious penury: these time ambles withal.
Orla. Whom doth he gallop withal ?
Rof. With a thief to the gallows: for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.
Orla. Whom stays it still withal ?
Rof. With lawyers in the vacation : for they sleep between term and term, and then they perceive not how time moves.
Orla. Where dwell you, pretty youth?
Ref. With this shepherdess, my sister ; here in the skirts of the foreft, like fringe upon a petticoat.
Orla. Are you native of this place ?
see dwell where she is kindled. Orla. Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling.
Ref. I have been told lo of many; but, indeed, an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland man, one that knew courtship too well; for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it. I thank god I am not a woman, to be touch'd with so many giddy offences as he hath generally tax'd their whole sex withal.
Orla. Can you remember any of the principal evils that he lay'd to the charge of women?
Rof. There were none principal, they were all like one another, as half-pence are; every one fault seeming monstrous, till his fellow fault came to match it.
Orla. I pr’ythee, recount some of them.
Ros: No; I will not caft away my physick, but on those that are fick. There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind. If I could meet that fancy-monger, I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him.
Orla. I am he that is so love-shak’d; I pray you, tell me your remedy.
Roj. There is none of my uncle's marks upon you: he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes, I am fure, you are not prisoner.
Orla. What were his marks?
Roj. A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye and sunken, which
you have not; an unquestionable spirit, which not; a beard neglected, which you have not; but I pardon you for that; for, simply, your having in beard is a younger brother's revenue: then
hose should be ungarter’d, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbutton’d, your shoe untied, and every thing about you demonstrating a careless desolation : but you are no such man; you are rather point-device in your accoutrements, as loving yourself, than seeming the lover of any other
Orla. Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love. Rof. Me believe it? you may as soon make her that you love believe it; which, I warrant, she is apter to do than to confess she does; that is one of the points in the which women still give the lie to their consciences. But, in good sooth, are you he that hangs the verses on the trees, wherein Rosalind is so admired ?
Orla. I swear to thee, youth, by the white hand of Rosalind, I am he, that unfortunate he.
Ref. But are you so much in love as your rhymes speak ? Orla. Neither rhyme nor reason can express how much. Ros. Love is merely a madness; and, I tell you, deserves as well a dark house and a whip as madmen do: and the reason why they are not so punish'd and cur’d is, that the lunacy is so ordinary, that the whippers are in love too: yet I profess curing it by counsel. Orla. Did you ever cure any
. Yes, one; and in this manner. He was to imagine me his love, his mistress : and I set him every day to woo me: at which time would I, being but a moonish youth, grieve, be effeminate, changeable, longing, and liking, proud, fantastical, apish, shallow, inconstant, full of tears, full of smiles; for every passion something,
and for no passion truly any thing, as boys and women are for the
cattle of this colour; would now like him, now loath then entertain him, then forswear him; now weep for him, then spit at him; that I drave my suitor from his mad humour of love to a living humour of madness; which was to forswear the full stream of the world, and to live in a nook merely monastick: and thus I cur’d him; and this way will I take upon me to wash your liver as clear as a sound sheep's heart, that there shall not be one spot of love in't.
Orla. I would not be cur’d, youth.
Rof. I would cure you, if you would but call me Rosalind, and come every day to my cot, and woo me.
Orla. Now, by the faith of my love, I will; tell me where it is.
Rof. Go with me to it, and I will show it you; and, by the way, you shall tell me where in the forest you live: will you go?
Orla. With all my heart, good youth.
Enter Clown, Audrey, and Jaques.
Aud. Your features, lord warrant us! what features ?
Clo. I am here with thee and thy goats, as the most capricious poet honest Ovid was among the Goths.
Jaq. O knowledge ill inhabited! worse than Jove in a thatch'd house.
Clo. When a man's verses cannot be understood, nor a man's good wit seconded with the forward child, understanding; it strikes a man more dead than a greať reeking 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 truest poetry is the most feigning, and lovers are given to poetry, and what they swear in poetry, may be said, as lovers, they do feign.
Aud. Do you wish then that the gods had made me poetical ?
Clo. I do, truly; for thou swear'st to me, thou art honeft: now, if thou art a poet, I might have fome hope thou didit feign.
Aud. Would you not have me honest ?
Clo. No, truly, unless thou wert hardfavour'd; for honesty coupled to beauty, is to have honey a sauce to sugar.
Jaq. A material fool!
Aud. Well, I am not fair, and therefore I pray the gods make me honest.
Clo. Truly, and to cast away honesty upon a foul Nut were to put good meat into an unclean dish.
Aud. I am not a slut, though, I thank the gods, I am foul.
Clo. Well, praised be the gods for thy foulness ! sluttishness may come hereafter: but be it as it may be, I will marry thee; and to that end I have been with fir Oliver Mar-text, the vicar of the next village, who hath promis’d to meet me in this place of the forest, and to couple us.
Jaq. I would fain see this meeting.
Clo. Amen. A man may, if he were of a fearful heart, stagger