I love him not nor hate him not; and yet

I have more cause to hate him than to love him:
For what had he to do to chide at me?

He said mine eyes were black and my hair black;
And, now I am remember'd, scorn'd at me:
I marvel why I answer'd not again:

But that's all one; omittance is no quittance.
I'll write to him a very taunting letter,
And thou shalt bear it: wilt thou, Silvius?
Sil. Phebe, with all my heart.

Phe.

I'll write it straight;
The matter's in my head and in my heart:
I will be bitter with him and passing short.
Go with me, Silvius.

131

[Exeunt

Act Fourth.

Scene 1.

The forest.

Enter Rosalind, Celia, and Jaques.

Jaq. I prithee, pretty youth, let me be better
acquainted with thee.

Ros. They say you are a melancholy fellow.
Jaq. I am so; I do love it better than laughing.
Ros. Those that are in extremity of either are
abominable fellows, and betray themselves to
every modern censure worse than drunkards.
Jaq. Why, 'tis good to be sad and say nothing.
Ros. Why then, 'tis good to be a post.
Jaq. I have neither the scholar's melancholy, which

is emulation; nor the musician's, which is
fantastical; nor the courtier's, which is proud;
nor the soldier's, which is ambitious; nor the
lawyer's, which is politic; nor the lady's, which
is nice; nor the lover's, which is all these: but
it is a melancholy of mine own, compounded of
many simples, extracted from

many objects;

and

indeed the sundry contemplation of my travels,
in which my often rumination wraps me in a
most humorous sadness.
Ros. A traveller! By my faith, you have great

reason to be sad: I fear you have sold your
own lands to see other men's; then, to have
seen much, and to have nothing, is to have rich
hands.

eyes and poor

Jaq. Yes, I have gained my experience.

Ros. And your experience makes you sad: I had rather have a fool to make me merry than experience to make me sad ; and to travel for it too!

Enter Orlando.

Orl. Good-day and happiness, dear Rosalind!
Jaq. Nay, then, God buy you, an you talk in
blank verse.
Ros. Farewell, Monsieur Traveller: look you lisp

20

30

[Exit.

and wear strange suits; disable all the benefits
of your own country; be out of love with your
nativity and almost chide God for making you
that countenance you are; or I will scarce think
you have swam in a gondola. Why, how now,
Orlando! where have you been all this while?

You a lover! An you serve me such another 40 trick, never come in my sight more.

Orl. My fair Rosalind, I come within an hour of my promise.

Ros. Break an hour's promise in love! He that will divide a minute into a thousand parts, and break but a part of the thousandth part of a minute in the affairs of love, it may be said of him that Cupid hath clapped him o' the shoulder, but I'll warrant him heart-whole.

Orl. Pardon me, dear Rosalind.

Ros. Nay, an you be so tardy, come no more in my sight: I had as lief be wooed of a snail.

Orl. Of a snail?

Ros. Ay, of a snail; for though he comes slowly,

he carries his house on his head; a better
jointure, I think, than you make a woman: be-
sides, he brings his destiny with him.

Orl. What's that?

Ros. Why, horns, which such as you are fain to be beholding to your wives for: but he comes armed in his fortune and prevents the slander of his wife.

Orl. Virtue is no horn-maker; and my Rosalind is

50

60

virtuous.

Ros. And I am your Rosalind.

Cel. It pleases him to call you so; but he hath a
Rosalind of a better leer than you.

Ros. Come, woo me, woo me; for now I am in a holiday humour and like enough to consent. What would you say to me now, an I were 70 your very very Rosalind?

Orl. I would kiss before I spoke.

Ros. Nay, you were better speak first; and when

you were gravelled for lack of matter, you
might take occasion to kiss. Very good orators,
when they are out, they will spit; and for
lovers lacking-God warn us!-matter, the
cleanliest shift is to kiss.

Orl. How if the kiss be denied?

Ros. Then she puts you to entreaty and there begins 80

new matter.

Orl. Who could be out, being before his beloved

mistress?

Ros. Marry, that should you, if I were your mistress, or I should think my honesty ranker than my wit.

Orl. What, of my suit?

Ros. Not out of your apparel, and yet out of your suit. Am not I your Rosalind?