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.

140

150

Ros. O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried Have patience, good 160 people'!

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

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

[Exeunt Corin and Touchstone.

Cel. Didst thou hear these verses?

Ros. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for

some of them had in them more feet than the
verses would bear.

170

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

verses.

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

lamely in the verse.

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

Ros. I was seven of the nine days out of the wonder before you came; for look here what I found 180 on a palm tree. I was never so be-rhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember.

Cel. Trow you who hath done this?

Ros. Is it a man?

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

Ros. I prithee, who?

Cel. O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be removed with 190 earthquakes and so encounter.

Ros. Nay, but who is it?

Cel. Is it possible?

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

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

Ros. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet 200 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 might'st
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 I
may drink thy tidings.

Cel. So you may put a man in your belly.

Ros. Is he of God's 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 be thankful: let me stay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin.

Cel. It is young Orlando, that tripped up the wrestler's heels and your heart both in an instant. Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking: speak sad brow and true maid.

Cel. I' faith, coz, 'tis he.

Ros. Orlando?

Cel. Orlando.

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220

Ros. Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose? What did he when thou sawest him? What said said he? How looked he? Wherein went he? What makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How 230 parted he with thee? and when shalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word.

Cel. 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.

Ros. 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?

Cel. It is as easy to count atomies as to resolve the 240 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. Ros. It may well be called Jove's tree, when it drops forth such fruit.

Cel. Give me audience, good madam.

Ros. Proceed.

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

Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well 250 becomes the ground.

Cel. Cry 'holla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets

unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter.

Ros. O, ominous! he comes to kill my heart.

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

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

Cel. You bring me out.

Soft! comes he not here? 260

Enter Orlando and Jaques.

Ros. 'Tis he: slink by, and note him.

Jaq. I thank you for your company; but, good faith,

I had as lief have been myself alone.

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