nor art, may complain of good breeding, or comes of a very dull kindred.

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

Corin. No, truly,

Touch. Then thou art damned.
Corin. Nay, I hope-

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

Corin. For not being at court? Your reason.

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

Corin. Not a whit, Touchstone: 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.

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

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

Enter ROSALIND, taking a Paper from a Tree, and reading.

From the east to the western Inde,
No jewel is like Rosalind.

Her worth, being mounted on the wind,
Through all the world bears Rosalind.

All the pictures, fairest limn'd,
Are but black to Rosalind.

Let no face be kept in mind,
But the face of Rosalind.

Touch. I'll rhime you so, eight years together; dinners, and suppers, and sleeping hours excepted: it is the right butter woman's rate to market.

Ros. Out, fool!
Touch. 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,
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
Such a nut is Rosalind.

They that reap, must sheaf and bind;

Then to cart with Rosalind.

This is the very false gallop of verses: Why do you infect yourself with them?

Ros. Peace, you dull fool; I found them on a tree. Touch. Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

Enter CELIA, with a Writing.

Ros. Peace!

Here comes my sister, reading! stand aside.

Cel.

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
This quintessence of every sprite
Heaven would in a little show.
Therefore Heaven nature charg'd,
That one body should be fill'd
With all graces wide enlarg'd:
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 devis'd:
Of many faces, eyes, and hearts,

To have the touches dearest priz'd.
Heaven would that she these gifts should have,
And I to live and die her slave.

Ros. O, most gentle Jupiter!-what tedious homily 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 honourable retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.

[Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE.

Cel. Didst thou hear these verses?

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

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 wonder, before you came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree.

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 pr'ythee, 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 pr'ythee 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 whooping!

Ros. Good my complexion! dost thou think, though I am caparisoned like a man, I have a doublet and hose in my disposition -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 wrest, ler's heels, and your heart, both in an instant. Ros. Nay, but the devil take mocking.

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

Ros. Orlando?

Cel. Orlando.

Ros. Alas the day! what shall I do with my doublet and hose? What did he, when thou saw'st 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,