_Rosalind._ With a priest that lacks Latin, and a rich man that hath not the gout; for the one sleeps easily, because he cannot study; and the other lives merrily, because he feels no pain: the one lacking the burden of lean and wasteful learning; the other knowing no burden of heavy, tedious penury. These Time ambles withal. _Orlando._ Who doth he gallop withal? _Rosalind._ With a thief to the gallows; for though he go as softly as foot can fall, he thinks himself too soon there. _Orlando._ Who stays it still withal? _Rosalind._ With lawyers in the vacation; for they sleep between term and term, and then they perceive not how Time moves. _Orlando._ Where dwell you, pretty youth? _Rosalind._ Here in the skirts of the forest, like fringe upon a petticoat. _Orlando._ Are you native of this place? _Rosalind._ As the cony, that you see dwell where she is kindled. _Orlando._ Your accent is something finer than you could purchase in so removed a dwelling. _Rosalind._ I have been told of so many: but, indeed, an old religious uncle of mine taught me to speak, who was in his youth an inland man; one that knew courtship too well, for there he fell in love. I have heard him read many lectures against it; and I thank God I am not a woman, to be touched with so many giddy offences as he hath generally taxed their whole sex withal. _Orlando._ Can you remember any of the principal evils that he laid to the charge of women? _Rosalind._ There were none principal: they were all like one another, as half-pence are; every one fault seeming monstrous, till its fellow fault came to match it. _Orlando._ I prithee, recount some of them. _Rosalind._ No; I will not cast away my physic but on those that are sick. There is a man haunts the forest, that abuses our young plants with carving Rosalind on their barks; hangs odes upon hawthorns, and elegies on brambles; all, forsooth, deifying the name of Rosalind: if I could meet that fancy-monger I would give him some good counsel, for he seems to have the quotidian of love upon him. _Orlando._ I am he that is so love-shaked. I pray you, tell me your remedy. _Rosalind._ There is none of my uncle’s marks upon you: he taught me how to know a man in love; in which cage of rushes, I am sure, you are not prisoner. _Orlando._ What were his marks? _Rosalind._ A lean cheek, which you have not; a blue eye, and sunken, which you have not; an unquestionable spirit, which you have not; a beard neglected, which you have not (but I pardon you for that, for, simply, your having in beard is a younger brother’s revenue. Then, your hose shall be ungartered, your bonnet unbanded, your sleeve unbuttoned, your shoe untied, and everything about you demonstrating a careless desolation. But you are no such man; you are rather point-device in your accoutrements, as loving yourself, than seeming the lover of any other. _Orlando._ Fair youth, I would I could make thee believe I love.