Sir Oliver. Is there none here to give the woman?

Touchstone. I will not take her on gift of

any man.

Sir Oliver. Truly, she must be given, or the marriage is not lawful.

Jaques. Proceed, proceed: I'll give her. Touchstone. Good even, good Master What-ye-call 't: how do you, sir? You are very well met: God 'ild you for your last company: I am very glad to see you: even a toy in hand here, sir: nay, pray be covered. Jaques. Will you be married, motley? Touchstone. As the ox hath his bow, sir, the horse his curb and the falcon her bells, so man hath his desires; and as pigeons bill, so wedlock would be nibbling. Jaques. And will you, being a man of your breeding, be married under a bush like a beggar? Get you to church, and have a good priest 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 shrunk panel, and like green timber

warp, warp.

Touchstone. [Aside.] 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 excuse for me hereafter to leave my wife.

Jaques. Go thou with me, and let me counsel thee.

Rosalind. But have I not cause to weep? Celia. As good cause as one would desire; therefore weep.

Rosalind. His very hair is of the dissembling colour.

Celia. Something browner than Judas's: marry, his kisses are Judas's own children.

Rosalind. I' faith, his hair is of a good colour.

Celia. An excellent colour: your chestnut was ever the only colour.

Rosalind. And his kissing is as full of sanctity as the touch of holy bread.

Celia. He hath bought a pair of cast lips
of Diana; a nun of winter's sisterhood
kisses not more religiously; the very ice of
chastity is in them.

Rosalind. But why did he swear he would
come this morning, and comes not?
Celia. Nay, certainly, there is no truth in
him.

Rosalind. Do you think so?

Celia. Yes; I think he is not a pick-purse nor a horse-stealer; but for his verity in love, I do think him as concave as a covered goblet or a worm-eaten nut.

Rosalind. Not true in love?

Celia. Yes, when he is in; but I think he is not in.

Rosalind. You have heard him swear downright he was.

Celia. 'Was' is not 'is': besides, the oath of a lover is no stronger than the word of a tapster; they are both the confirmer of false reckonings. He attends here in the forest on the Duke your father. Rosalind. I met the Duke yesterday and had much question with him: he asked me of what parentage I was; I told him, of as good as he; so he laughed and let

me go. But what talk we of fathers, when there is such a man as Orlando?

Celia. O, that's a brave man! he writes brave verses, speaks brave words, swears brave oaths and breaks them bravely, quite traverse, athwart the heart of his lover; as a puisny tilter, that spurs his horse but on one side, breaks his staff like a noble goose: but all's brave that youth mounts and folly guides. Who comes here?

SCENE V-ANOTHER PART OF THE FOREST

Enter SILVIUS and PHEBE.

Silvius. Sweet Phebe, do not scorn me; do not, Phebe;

Say that you love me not, but say not so In bitterness. The common executioner, Whose heart the accustom'd sight of death makes hard,

Falls not the axe upon the humbled neck
But first begs pardon: will you sterner be
Than he that dies and lives by bloody drops?
Enter ROSALIND, CELIA, and CORIN,
behind.

Phebe. I would not be thy executioner:
I fly thee, for I would not injure thee.
Thou tell'st me there is murder in mine eye:
'T is pretty, sure, and very probable,

Who shut their coward gates on atomies, Should be call'd tyrants, butchers, murderers !

Now I do frown on thee with all my heart; And if mine eyes can wound, now let them kill thee:

Now counterfeit to swoon; why now fall

down;

Or if thou canst not, O, for shame, for shame,

Lie not, to say mine eyes are murderers!