ACT III. Sc. ii.] AS YOU LIKE IT 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 Helen's cheek, but not her heart, Sad Lucretia's modesty." Thus Rosalind of many parts By heavenly synod was devised; To have the touches dearest prized. Heaven would that she these gifts should have, And I to live and die her slave. Ros. O most gentle pulpiter! what tedious hom ily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried Have patience, good people'! Cel. How now! back, friends! Shepherd, go off a little. Go with him, sirrah. Touch. Come, shepherd, let us make an honorable retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet 170 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. 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. 180 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 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? 190 Cel. And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck. Change you color? Ros. I prithee, who?° Cel. O Lord, Lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be removed with 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. 200 Cel. O wonderful, wonderful, and most wonderful wonderful! and yet again wonderful, and after that, out of all whooping!° Ros. 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 I may drink thy tid 210 ings. 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. 220 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. о Cel. I' faith, coz, 'tis he. Ros. Orlando? Cel. Orlando. 230 Ros. 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 he 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. 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 240 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 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. 250 Cel. There lay he, stretched along, like a wounded knight. Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground. Cel. Cryholla' to thy tongue, I prithee; it curvets unseasonably. He was furnished like a hunter. 260 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? Enter ORLANDO and JAQUES Ros. 'Tis he: slink° by, and note him. |