As You Like It By William Shakespeare Act III: Scene 2

ROSALIND.
Out, fool!

TOUCHSTONE.
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.
Winter garments must be lin'd,
So must slender Rosalind.
They that reap must sheaf and bind, —
Then to cart with Rosalind.
Sweetest nut hath sourest rind,
Such a nut is Rosalind.
He that sweetest rose will find
Must find love's prick, and Rosalind.

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

ROSALIND.
Peace, you dull fool! I found them on a tree.

TOUCHSTONE.
Truly, the tree yields bad fruit.

ROSALIND.
I'll graff it with you, and then I shall graff it with a
medlar. Then it will be the earliest fruit in the country:
for you'll be rotten ere you be half ripe, and that's the right
virtue of the medlar.

TOUCHSTONE.
You have said; but whether wisely or no, let the forest judge.

[Enter CELIA, reading a paper.]

ROSALIND.
Peace!
Here comes my sister, reading: stand aside.

CELIA.
'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 streching 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
The quintessence of every sprite
Heaven would in 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.'

ROSALIND.
O most gentle Jupiter! — What tedious homily of love have
you wearied your parishioners withal, and never cried 'Have
patience, good people!'

CELIA.
How now! back, friends; shepherd, go off a little: — go
with him, sirrah.

TOUCHSTONE.
Come, shepherd, let us make an honourable retreat; though not
with bag and baggage, yet with scrip and scrippage.

[Exeunt CORIN and TOUCHSTONE.]

CELIA.
Didst thou hear these verses?

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

CELIA.
That's no matter; the feet might bear the verses.

ROSALIND.
Ay, but the feet were lame, and could not bear themselves
without the verse, and therefore stood lamely in the verse.

CELIA.
But didst thou hear without wondering how thy name
should be hanged and carved upon these trees?

ROSALIND.
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 berhymed since Pythagoras' time, that I was an Irish rat,
which I can hardly remember.

CELIA.
Trow you who hath done this?

ROSALIND.
Is it a man?

CELIA.
And a chain, that you once wore, about his neck.
Change you colour?

ROSALIND.
I pray thee, who?

CELIA.
O lord, lord! it is a hard matter for friends to meet; but
mountains may be removed with earthquakes, and so encounter.

ROSALIND.
Nay, but who is it?

CELIA.
Is it possible?

ROSALIND.
Nay, I pr'ythee now, with most petitionary vehemence,
tell me who it is.

CELIA.
O wonderful, wonderful, most wonderful wonderful! and yet
again wonderful, and after that, out of all whooping!

ROSALIND.
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 pr'ythee 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 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.

CELIA.
So you may put a man in your belly.

ROSALIND.
Is he of God's making? What manner of man?
Is his head worth a hat or his chin worth a beard?

CELIA.
Nay, he hath but a little beard.

ROSALIND.
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.

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