That the stretching of a span Buckles in bis fum of age. 'Twixt the fouls of friend and friend : Or at every fentence' end, Will I Rofalinda write; Teaching all that read, to know Atalanta's better part; By heavenly fynod was devis'd; f To have the touches dearest priz'd. Heaven would that she thefe gifts should have, And I to live and die her flave. Rof. O moft gentle Jupiter!-what tedious homily of love have you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cry'd, Have patience, good people! Cel. How now! back-friends?-Shepherd, go off a little-Go with him, firrah. Clo. Come, fhepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; though not with bag and baggage, yet with fcrip and fcrippage. [Exeunt Corin, and Clown. a better part ;]-fwiftnefs of mind, fprightly wit; virtue, virgin chaftity; beauty, graceful elegance. touches]-traits, features. Sad]-Grave, sober. & back-friends ?-lifteners. Cel. Cel. Didft thou hear these verses? Rof. O, yes, I heard them all, and more too; for fome of them had in them more feet than the verses would bear. Cel. That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses. Rof. Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves without the verfe, and therefore stood lamely in the verse. Cel. But didft thou hear, without wondring, how thy name fhould be hang'd and carv'd upon thefe trees? Rof. I was feven of the nine days out of wonder, before you came; for look here what I found on a palm-tree: I was never so be-rhimed fince Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat, which I can hardly remember. h Cel. Trow you, who hath done this? Rof. Is it a man? Cel. And a chain that you once wore, about his neck: Change you colour? Rof. 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 fo encounter. Rof. Nay, but who is it? Cel. Is it poffible? Rof. 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! k Rof. Good my complexion! doft thou think, though I am caparifon'd like a man, I have a doublet and hofe in my difpofition? One inch of delay more is a Southfea off discovery. I py'ythee, tell me, who is it? quickly, and speak apace: I would thou couldst ftammer, that thou h an Irish rat,]-Thefe are faid to be destroyed, or charmed away by rhimes.. i Good my complexion !]-Have fome regard to my sex. South-fea off difcovery.]-As far off as the South-fea. might'ft might'ft pour this concealed man out of thy mouth, as wine comes out of a narrow-mouth'd bottle; either too much at once, or none at all. I pr'ythee take the cork out of thy mouth, that I may drink thy tidings. Cel. So you may put a man in your belly. Rof. 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. Rof. Why, God will fend more, if the man will be thankful: let me ftay the growth of his beard, if thou delay me not the knowledge of his chin. Cel. It is young Orlando, that tripp'd up the wrestler's heels, and your heart, both in an instant. Rof. Nay, but the devil take mocking; "speak fad brow, and true maid. Cel. I'faith, coz, 'tis he. Rof. Orlando? Cel. Orlando. Rof. Alas the day! what fhall I do with my doublet and hofe?-What did he, when thou faw'ft him? What faid he? How look'd he?" Wherein went he? What • makes he here? Did he ask for me? Where remains he? How parted he with thee? and when fhalt thou see him again? Answer me in one word. Cel. You must borrow me Garagantua's mouth first : 'tis a word too great for any mouth of this age's fize: To fay, ay, and no, to these particulars, is more than to anfwer a catechifm. Rof. But doth he know that I am in this foreft, and in man's apparel? Looks he as freshly as he did the day he wrestled? I be thankful:]-for what he has already. mSpeak fad brow, and true maid. ]-answer me foberly, and as becomes an honeft maid. n Wherein went he?]-How was he apP Garagantua's]—a giant's.. Cel. parelled? • makes]-does. 9 Cel. It is as eafy to count atomies, as to refolve the propofitions of a lover:-but take a taste of my finding him, and relish it with good obfervance. I found him under a tree, like a dropp'd acorn. Rof. It may well be call'd Jove's tree, when it drops fuch fruit. Cel. Give me audience, good madam. Rof. Proceed. Cel. There lay he, stretch'd along, like a wounded knight. Rof. Though it be pity to fee fuch a fight, it well becomes the ground. t Cel. Cry holla! to thy tongue, I pr'ythee; it curvets unfeasonably. He was furnish'd like a hunter. Rof. Oh ominous! he comes to kill my heart. Cel. I would fing my fong without a burden: thou bring'ft me out of tune. Rof. Do you not know I am a woman? whe. I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on. Enter Orlando, and Jaques. Cel. You bring me out:-Soft! comes he not here? Rof. 'Tis he; Slink by, and note him." [Celia and Rofalind retire. Jaq. I thank you for your company; but, good faith, I had as lief have been myself alone. Orla. And fo had I; but yet, for fashion fake, I thank you too for your fociety. Jaq. God be with you; let's meet as little as we can. Orla. I do defire we may be better strangers. faq. I pray you, mar no more trees with writing lovefongs in their barks. a atomies,]-atoms. the ground.]-an allufion to needle work. • Cry holla! to thy tongue,-it curvets,]-stop it, it bounds. t furnish'd like a bunter.]-he was in the habit of. Orla. Orla. I pray you, mar no more of my verses with read ing them ill-favouredly. Faq. Rofalind is your love's name? Orla. Yes, just. Jaq. I do not like her name. Orla. There was no thought of pleasing you, when she was chriften'd. Jaq. What ftature is she of? Orla. Juft as high as my heart. Jaq. You are full of pretty answers: Have you not been acquainted with goldsmiths wives, and conn'd them out of rings? Orla. Not fo: but I answer you " right painted cloth, from whence you have ftudied your questions. Jaq. You have a nimble wit; I think it was made of Atalanta's heels. Will you fit down with me; and we two will rail against our mistress, the world, and all our misery. Orla. I will chide no breather in the world, but myself, against whom I know most faults. Jaq. The worst fault you have is, to be in love. Orla. 'Tis a fault I would not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you. Jaq. By my troth, I was feeking for a fool when I found you. Orla. He is drown'd in the brook; look but in, and you fhall fee him. Jaq. There I fhall fee mine own figure. Orla. Which I take to be either a fool, or a cypher. Jaq. I'll tarry no longer with you: farewell, good fignior love. [Exit. " right painted cloth,]-in the fashion, or true ftyle of the mottos proceeding from the mouths of fuch figures.. "Who fears a sentence, or an old man's faw, VOL. II. POEMS 487. Orla. |