But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name should be hang’d and carv’d 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 berhym’d 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 color?
Ros. I prithee who?
Cel. O Lord, Lord, it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but mountains may be remov’d 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.
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 caparison’d 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 conceal’d 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 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 tripp’d up the wrastler’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.
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 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 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 wrastled?
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 dropp’d acorn.
Ros. It may well be call’d Jove’s tree, when it drops [such] fruit.
Cel. Give me audience, good madam.
Ros. Proceed.
Cel. There lay he, stretch’d along, like a wounded knight.
Ros. Though it be pity to see such a sight, it well becomes the ground.
Cel. Cry “holla” to [thy] tongue, I prithee; it curvets unseasonably. He was furnish’d like a hunter.
Ros. O ominous! he comes to kill my heart.
Cel. I would sing my song without a burthen; thou bring’st me out of tune.
Ros. Do you not know I am a woman? when I think, I must speak. Sweet, say on.
Enter Orlando and Jaques.
Cel. You bring me out. Soft, comes he not here?
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.
Jaq. God buy you, let’s meet as little as we can.
Orl. I do desire we may be better strangers.
Jaq. I pray you mar no more trees with writing love- songs in their barks.
Orl. I pray you mar no moe of my verses with reading them ill-favoredly.
Jaq. Rosalind is your love’s name?
Orl. Yes, just.
Jaq. I do not like her name.
Orl. There was no thought of pleasing you when she was christen’d.
Jaq. What stature is she of?
Orl. Just 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?
Orl. Not so; but I answer you right painted cloth, from whence you have studied your questions.
Jaq. You have a nimble wit; I think ’twas made of Atalanta’s heels. Will you sit down with me? and we two will rail against our mistress the world, and all our misery.
Orl. 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.
Orl. ’Tis a fault I will not change for your best virtue. I am weary of you.
Jaq. By my troth, I was seeking for a fool when I found you.
Orl. He is drown’d in the brook; look but in, and you shall see him.
Jaq. There I shall see mine own figure.
Orl. Which I take to be either a fool or a cipher.
Jaq. I’ll tarry no longer with you. Farewell, good Signior Love.
Orl. I am glad of your departure. Adieu, good Monsieur Melancholy.
[Exit Jaques.]
Ros. [Aside to Celia.] I will speak to him like a saucy lackey, and under that habit play the knave with him.—Do you hear, forester?
Orl. Very well. What would you?
Ros. I pray you, what is’t a’ clock?
Orl. You should ask me what time o’ day; there’s no clock in the forest.
Ros. Then there is no true lover in the forest, else sighing every minute and groaning every hour would detect the lazy foot of Time as well as a clock.
Orl. And why not the swift foot of Time? Had not that been as proper?
Ros. By no means, sir. Time travels in divers paces with divers persons. I’ll tell you who Time ambles withal, who Time trots withal, who Time gallops withal, and who he stands still withal.
Orl. I prithee, who doth he trot withal?
Ros. Marry, he trots hard with a young maid between the contract of her marriage and the day it is solemniz’d. If the interim be but a se’nnight, Time’s pace is so hard that it seems the length of seven year.
Orl.