SCENE II. The forest.

Enter ORLANDO, with a paper

Hang there, my verse, in witness of my love:
And thou, thrice-crowned queen of night, survey
With thy chaste eye, from thy pale sphere above,
Thy huntress' name that my full life doth sway.
O Rosalind! these trees shall be my books
And in their barks my thoughts I'll character;
That every eye which in this forest looks
Shall see thy virtue witness'd every where.
Run, run, Orlando; carve on every tree
The fair, the chaste and unexpressive she.

Exit

Enter CORIN and TOUCHSTONE

And how like you this shepherd's life, Master Touchstone?

Truly, shepherd, in respect of itself, it is a good
life, but in respect that it is a shepherd's life,
it is naught. In respect that it is solitary, I
like it very well; but in respect that it is
private, it is a very vile life. Now, in respect it
is in the fields, it pleaseth me well; but in
respect it is not in the court, it is tedious. As
is it a spare life, look you, it fits my humour well;
but as there is no more plenty in it, it goes much
against my stomach. Hast any philosophy in thee, shepherd?

No more but that I know the more one sickens the
worse at ease he is; and that he that wants money,
means and content is without three good friends;
that the property of rain is to wet and fire to
burn; that good pasture makes fat sheep, and that a
great cause of the night is lack of the sun; that
he that hath learned no wit by nature nor art may
complain of good breeding or comes of a very dull kindred.

Such a one is a natural philosopher. Wast ever in
court, shepherd?

No, truly.

Then thou art damned.

Nay, I hope.

Truly, thou art damned like an ill-roasted egg, all
on one side.

For not being at court? Your reason.

Why, if thou never wast at court, thou never sawest
good manners; if thou never sawest good manners,
then thy manners must be wicked; and wickedness is
sin, and sin is damnation. Thou art in a parlous
state, shepherd.

Not a whit, Touchstone: those that are good manners
at the court are as ridiculous in the country as the
behavior of the country is most mockable at the
court. You told me you salute not at the court, but
you kiss your hands: that courtesy would be
uncleanly, if courtiers were shepherds.

Instance, briefly; come, instance.

Why, we are still handling our ewes, and their
fells, you know, are greasy.

Why, do not your courtier's hands sweat? and is not
the grease of a mutton as wholesome as the sweat of
a man? Shallow, shallow. A better instance, I say; come.

Besides, our hands are hard.

Your lips will feel them the sooner. Shallow again.
A more sounder instance, come.

And they are often tarred over with the surgery of
our sheep: and would you have us kiss tar? The
courtier's hands are perfumed with civet.

Most shallow man! thou worms-meat, in respect of a
good piece of flesh indeed! Learn of the wise, and
perpend: civet is of a baser birth than tar, the
very uncleanly flux of a cat. Mend the instance, shepherd.

You have too courtly a wit for me: I'll rest.

Wilt thou rest damned? God help thee, shallow man!
God make incision in thee! thou art raw.

Sir, I am a true labourer: I earn that I eat, get
that I wear, owe no man hate, envy no man's
happiness, glad of other men's good, content with my
harm, and the greatest of my pride is to see my ewes
graze and my lambs suck.

That is another simple sin in you, to bring the ewes
and the rams together and to offer to get your
living by the copulation of cattle; to be bawd to a
bell-wether, and to betray a she-lamb of a
twelvemonth to a crooked-pated, old, cuckoldly ram,
out of all reasonable match. If thou beest not
damned for this, the devil himself will have no
shepherds; I cannot see else how thou shouldst
'scape.

Here comes young Master Ganymede, my new mistress's brother.

Enter ROSALIND, with a paper, reading

From the east to western Ind,
No jewel is like Rosalind.
Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
Through all the world bears Rosalind.
All the pictures fairest lined
Are but black to Rosalind.
Let no fair be kept in mind
But the fair of Rosalind.

I'll rhyme you so eight years together, dinners and
suppers and sleeping-hours excepted: it is the
right butter-women's rank to market.

Out, fool!

For a taste:
If a hart do lack a hind,
Let him seek out Rosalind.
If the cat will after kind,
So be sure will Rosalind.
Winter garments must be lined,
So must slender Rosalind.
They that reap must sheaf and bind;
Then to cart with Rosalind.
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
Such a nut is Rosalind.
He that sweetest rose will find
Must find love's prick and Rosalind.
This is the very false gallop of verses: why do you
infect yourself with them?

Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree.

Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it
with a medlar: then it will be the earliest fruit
i' the country; for you'll be rotten ere you be half
ripe, and that's the right virtue of the medlar.

You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the
forest judge.

Enter CELIA, with a writing

Peace! Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside.

[Reads]
Why should this a desert be?
For it is unpeopled? No:
Tongues I'll hang on every tree,
That shall civil sayings show:
Some, how brief the life of man
Runs his erring pilgrimage,
That the stretching of a span
Buckles in his sum of age;
Some, of violated vows
'Twixt the souls of friend and friend:
But upon the fairest boughs,
Or at every sentence end,
Will I Rosalinda write,
Teaching all that read to know
The quintessence of every sprite
Heaven would in little show.
Therefore Heaven Nature charged
That one body should be fill'd
With all graces wide-enlarged:
Nature presently distill'd
Helen's cheek, but not her heart,
Cleopatra's majesty,
Atalanta's better part,
Sad Lucretia's modesty.
Thus Rosalind of many parts
By heavenly synod was devised,
Of many faces, eyes and hearts,
To have the touches dearest prized.
Heaven would that she these gifts should have,
And I to live and die her slave.

O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious homily of love
have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never
cried 'Have patience, good people!'

How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go off a little.
Go with him, sirrah.

Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat;
though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.

Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE

Didst thou hear these verses?

O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for some of
them had in them more feet than the verses would bear.

That's no matter: the feet might bear the verses.

Ay, but the feet were lame and could not bear
themselves without the verse and therefore stood
lamely in the verse.

But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name
should be hanged and carved upon these trees?

I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder
before you came; for look here what I found on a
palm-tree. I was never so be-rhymed since
Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I
can hardly remember.

Trow you who hath done this?

Is it a man?

And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck.
Change you colour?

I prithee, who?

O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to
meet; but mountains may be removed with earthquakes
and so encounter.

Nay, but who is it?

Is it possible?

Nay, I prithee now with most petitionary vehemence,
tell me who it is.

O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful
wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that,
out of all hooping!

Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am
caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in
my disposition? One inch of delay more is a
South-sea of discovery; I prithee, tell me who is it
quickly, and speak apace. I would thou couldst
stammer, that thou mightst pour this concealed man
out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-
mouthed bottle, either too much at once, or none at
all. I prithee, take the cork out of thy mouth that
may drink thy tidings.

So you may put a man in your belly.

Is he of God's making? What manner of man? Is his
head worth a hat, or his chin worth a beard?

Nay, he hath but a little beard.

Why, God will send more, if the man will be
thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if
thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin.

It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler's
heels and your heart both in an instant.

Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak, sad brow and
true maid.

I' faith, coz, 'tis he.

Orlando?

Orlando.

Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and
hose? What did he when thou sawest him? What said
he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes
him here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he?
How parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see
him again? Answer me in one word.

You must borrow me Gargantua's mouth first: 'tis a
word too great for any mouth of this age's size. To
say ay and no to these particulars is more than to
answer in a catechism.

But doth he know that I am in this forest and in
man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the
day he wrestled?

It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the
propositions of a lover; but take a taste of my
finding him, and relish it with good observance.
I found him under a tree, like a dropped acorn.

It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops
forth such fruit.

Give me audience, good madam.

Proceed.

There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight.

Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well
becomes the ground.

Cry 'holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets
unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter.

O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.

I would sing my song without a burden: thou bringest
me out of tune.

Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must
speak. Sweet, say on.

You bring me out. Soft! comes he not here?

Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES

'Tis he: slink by, and note him.

I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had
as lief have been myself alone.

And so had I; but yet, for fashion sake, I thank you
too for your society.

God be wi' you: let's meet as little as we can.

I do desire we may be better strangers.

I pray you, mar no more trees with writing
love-songs in their barks.

I pray you, mar no more of my verses with reading
them ill-favouredly.

Rosalind is your love's name?

Yes, just.

I do not like her name.

There was no thought of pleasing you when she was
christened.

What stature is she of?

Just as high as my heart.

You are full of pretty answers. Have you not been
acquainted with goldsmiths' wives, and conned them
out of rings?

Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from
whence you have studied your questions.

You have a nimble wit: I think 'twas made of
Atalanta's heels. Will you sit down with me? and
we two will rail against our mistress the world and
all our misery.

I will chide no breather in the world but myself,
against whom I know most faults.

The worst fault you have is to be in love.

'Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue.
I am weary of you.

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

He is drowned in the brook: look but in, and you
shall see him.

There I shall see mine own figure.

Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.

I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good
Signior Love.

I am glad of your departure: adieu, good Monsieur
Melancholy.

Exit JAQUES

[Aside to CELIA] I will speak to him, like a saucy
lackey and under that habit play the knave with him.
Do you hear, forester?

Very well: what would you?

I pray you, what is't o'clock?

You should ask me what time o' day: there's no clock
in the forest.

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.

And why not the swift foot of Time? had not that
been as proper?

By no means, sir: Time travels in divers paces with
divers persons. I'll tell you who Time ambles
withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops
withal and who he stands still withal.

I prithee, who doth he trot withal?

Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the
contract of her marriage and the day it is
solemnized: if the interim be but a se'nnight,
Time's pace is so hard that it seems the length of
seven year.

Who ambles Time withal?

With a priest that lacks Latin and a rich man that
hath not the gout, for the one sleeps 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.

Who doth he gallop withal?

With a thief to the gallows, for though he go as
softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there.

Who stays it still withal?

With lawyers in the vacation, for they sleep between
term and term and then they perceive not how Time moves.

Where dwell you, pretty youth?

With this shepherdess, my sister; here in the
skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat.

Are you native of this place?

As the cony that you see